You Could Be Happy
by sweetwordsofwisdom166
Summary: They're enemies-pure and simple. They hate each other. He's a pureblood Slytherin, she's a Muggle-born Gryffindor. But after a twist of fate, the lines are blurred. (I promise it's not as cheesy at it sounds! There's lots of bickering and angry stomping away! Please read & review! Thanks!)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Duh. If I did, Dramione would've happened.

* * *

**Sunday, September 1st**

Hermione Granger pursed her lips and quietly surveyed the platform, searching for a large group of redheads and one single tousled-haired boy. They were clearly nowhere to be seen, so she leaned back against the brick wall she had been loitering around and watched everyone else. Students and their families surrounded her, pushing carts and pulling luggage, running to meet their friends or saying goodbye to her parents.

After a few minutes of frowning and waiting, she checked her wristwatch. They weren't very late—the train was set to leave in 8 minutes, so they still had time—but they were late nonetheless. Harry had told her very specifically that they would be there at 10:30 so they could all catch up and find a compartment together. At this rate, they were going to be forced to share with some first years…or worse, Slytherins. Hermione inwardly shuddered at the thought of being cramped up between Pansy Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe. Not that they would even think of voluntarily sharing space with blood traitors, Muggle-borns, or Harry Potter, for that matter.

"Hermione!"

She shot her head up, grinned, and wrapped her arms around Harry Potter's shoulders. He was a bit taller than her, so her feet skimmed the floor beneath her. Before she could even let go of Harry, she was met by several hugs from members of the Weasley family.

"Good to see you, Hermy," Fred said, ruffling her hair in a brotherly way.

She inwardly cringed at the nickname, but before she could protest, Mrs. Weasley bustled through them and locked Hermione in a bone-crushing hug. "We missed you this summer," she said kindly as she let the bushy-haired girl go.

Hermione rubbed her arms, trying to regain feeling in her upper body. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. It's just that Mum and Dad wanted—"

"There's no need to explain," Mrs. Weasley said, using both hands in an attempt to flatten Hermione's hair. "I just hope you'll visit next summer." Seeing that her hair was beyond saving, Mrs. Weasley moved on to yelling at Fred and George about how they most certainly _could_ _not_ put self-detonating exploding rocks in the girls' bathroom this year.

Ron and Harry both grinned before Harry said, "So how was your summer?"

Before she could answer his question, she was attacked with yet another hug.

"Thank Merlin. Hermione!" Ginny cried. "You have no idea how hard it is to deal with these male oafs." She let go of Hermione and put her nose in the air indignantly. "They are all idiots." She shot a particularly scornful look at Ron before grabbing Hermione's wrist with a surprisingly strong grip and marching away with her.

Hermione looked back, pleased to see that Harry was pushing her cart along with his. Ginny forcefully pulled Hermione into the train and they walked through the corridor, searching for an empty compartment. Most of them seemed to be packed, but eventually Ginny led her into one whose sole occupant was Luna Lovegood. Already dressed in her robes with her wand sticking out from behind her ear, Luna silently smiled and waved at them before returning to intently reading the latest issue of the Quibbler.

Ginny sat across from Luna and motioned for Hermione to sit next to her.

Once she did, Hermione promptly asked, "What did they do now?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not _they_. Ron. I honestly have no idea how he could be so clueless about girls."

"Oh gosh." She cringed at the memory of Ron constantly asking her if it was her "time of the month" whenever she was upset. No, it certainly was not…most of the time. "What happened?"

Ginny pulled her wand from her boot, where she seemed to have a habit of sticking it, and idly fidgeted with it, sending small orange sparks from the tip. "Harry and Ron were talking about girls during breakfast and Ron started talking about…well, you." The red-haired girl watched Hermione, gauging a reaction.

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. _Ron was talking about her? _

"What—what did he say?"

Ginny opened her mouth to respond when the compartment door slid open.

"There you are," Harry said, relieved. "We were scared we'd never find you." He smiled politely at Luna before sitting down next to her.

"Hello, Harry. I see your hair's gotten longer," Luna said dreamily.

"Er, yes, it has," he said, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair.

Ron stumbled in, tripping over his own feet. He quickly regained his balance and plopped down next to Hermione. Her now-cooled cheeks felt hot again, but she tried to ignore it.

Ginny coldly glared at him before sliding farther away, towards the window to gaze out at the platform.

A loud whistle let the students know it was leaving the station. Slowly, it started moving and Hermione felt a sense of relief wash over her. Soon, she'd be at Hogwarts, surrounded by her friends and magic. She was giddy, though she hid it. Whenever she showed her excitement for school, Ron would look at her confusedly and Harry would just chuckle. They didn't understand, not really. They always thought that her love of school was just because she liked homework and classes and books and while that was all very true, there had always been something else—the whole magical aspect of it all. She had grown up in the Muggle world, thinking she would live some painfully plain life with nothing special. Of course, she would go to university and perhaps become a professor or a doctor, which was all well and good, but she had always wanted more. When her first Hogwarts letter came, she was beyond ecstatic. Now, she could truly do something with her life that was beyond ordinary. It was true that Harry held reverence for the magical world like she did, but she always felt like she appreciated it just a bit more.

Just as they were leaving King's Cross Station, Neville Longbottom joined them, sitting next to Harry, and soon, the six of them were all laughing and chatting away. Luna shared her summer adventures, setting down her magazine long enough to explain in great detail how she spent three weeks exploring a local pond in search for dabberblimps, which ended when she realized that they were probably using their invisibility abilities to hide from her as they were rather shy. Hermione listened politely, inwardly resisting the urge to snort at the Ravenclaw's ridiculous story. Harry talked about how he wanted the new broomstick he had seen during his last visit to Diagon Alley. The discussion quickly turned to Quidditch and Ginny, seeming to temporarily forgive Ron for whatever he had said or done, joined them, if only to aggressively insult the Chudley Cannons.

"I'm just saying, Ron! I mean, their Chasers are so slow. Don't even get me started on their Beaters! They can barely hold up a bat!" Ginny jeered, clearly enjoying her ridicules.

"Hey, lay off! They just can't afford nice brooms—"

"Because they suck."

"—and Fairbanks and Stromberg are _great_ Beaters! You just can't see it because you're a _girl_ and you don't know anything about Quidditch."

There was a collective gasp. Neville fidgeted hesitantly with his sweater buttons, his eyes on his feet, and even Luna seemed slightly offended…well, as offended as she could be. Harry ran his fingers through his already tousled hair and coughed awkwardly. Hermione glared. But before Ginny could respond with a scathing insult, the carriage door slid open with a loud _thunk_. Ron narrowed his eyes.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

* * *

Draco Malfoy leaned casually against the door and sneered. "World peace. A bigger allowance. Maybe a puppy for Christmas."

Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, snickering stupidly. Draco ignored them and let his eyes lazily travel around the compartment, just so he could see exactly who he was dealing with. The Weasel was glaring at him, trying to look menacing, no doubt, but failing miserably. Across from him was Longbottom, looking nervous and awkward as always. How pathetic. Potter was regarding Draco in an almost calm matter, not looking aggressive but definitely wary. Loony Lovegood was staring at him dreamily, as if his presence was no bother to her at all. If she wasn't such a freak, she might've been pretty…and she was a pureblood. The Weaselette was looking angrier than she normally did in his presence and he quickly realized that she didn't even seem to care about him—she was glaring daggers at her brother. Then there was bushy-haired Granger, who looked rather uninterested, if not a little wary. She looked different than the last time he had seen her, perhaps even pretty if it weren't for the rat's nest she dared to call hair.

Aside from the Weasel, none of them were cowering in fear or trying to punch him in his face, calling him a lousy git and threatening to hex him into oblivion. Longbottom didn't really count—he was afraid of Pansy and anyone who knew anything knew that Pansy Parkinson was all bark and no bite. What was happening? Was he losing his edge? Well, that simply wouldn't do.

Potter cleared his throat after a considerably long silence. "Malfoy, can we help you with something?"

"No, Potter, because unlike you, I can help myself and I don't need other people's charity."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed.

"You can't help yourself. You just use your family's money!" the Weasel said snidely. "Without it, you'd be completely lost."

Draco shrugged. "I've got wits—more wits than your entire family put together—so I think I'd do fine. Unlike you, Weasel. You'd be lost without Potter and Granger—just another Weasley with nothing to of interest to offer anyone. Is that why you've never had a girlfriend? Aside from the part about you being poor and stupid." He watched with delight as the Weasel's eyes moved to Granger and his face flushed slightly. "Oh, got a thing for the Mudblood, do you?" he drawled.

Granger's cheeks turned pink—because of the Weasel's crush or his insult, he wasn't sure, but he was satisfied with her embarrassment, no matter the reason.

"Don't call her that," the Weasel growled lowly.

Draco was mildly surprised by the intensity in the ginger's eyes, but wasn't one to be intimidated and kept his face expressionless. He pulled out his wand—a clear threat—and began casually twirling it like a baton. "Don't call her what?" he prodded, feigning innocence.

"Don't call her _that_," he repeated.

He was itching for a fight and he knew it. He wanted to fight, even if it was just with the Weasel. Boring, sure, and easy, no doubt, but a fight nonetheless. "I'm sorry, Weasel, I still don't understand. What shouldn't I call the Mudblood?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw said Mudblood wince and the Weaselette put her arm consolingly around her shoulders.

The Weasel stood quickly, followed by Potter.

"Get out of our compartment, Malfoy, and leave us alone," Potter said calmly.

"Why?"

"Malfoy, get out before I hex you!" the Weaselette said, pointing her wand threateningly at him.

_There_, he thought smugly. _Someone's threatening to hex me. I do still have my edge, even if it is getting a bit dull. I'll have to work on that._

"Ah, Weasel. Having your wee sis come to your rescue? Despite their obvious and numerous faults, I don't think Mudbloods are attracted to wimps," Draco sneered and watched Granger's face turn an even darker shade of pink before leisurely sliding the cabin door closed and strolling down the corridor back to his compartment to snog Pansy before the witch with the trolley came by for lunch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Monday, September 2nd**

Hermione smiled to herself as she smeared a bit of jam on her toast and took a bite.

"You seem awfully cheerful this morning," Harry noted as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"It's the first day of classes, Harry. Aren't you excited? I know I could barely sleep last night." It was true. She had been too anxious to go to bed, finally managing to fall asleep around one-thirty and had woken up at four to reread the first six chapters of Advanced Potion Making. Then she had been the first person in the Great Hall for breakfast, but instead of eating, she had spent an entire hour skimming her Transfiguration textbook. She only set it down after a bleary-eyed, ruffled-looking Harry reminded her that she needed to eat and if she didn't, she'd regret it later.

In response, Harry shot her a look that said very clearly, _I had to wake up before eleven-thirty. Of course I'm not excited_. Hermione gave him a small, hopefully reassuring smile before finishing her toast and downing a cup of orange juice.

"Typical men," Ginny growled as she stomped into the Great Hall and sat down across from Hermione, slamming her book bag down next to her. "No, I take it back. Typical Ron. He's such a—ugh! He's so—"

"Yes?" Hermione asked softly. It seemed to be that Ginny had not forgiven her brother and she was in an even fouler mood than she'd been in the day before. Hermione was beginning to worry. S

- Doc Manager

he hadn't been able to get Ginny alone the entire night to tell her what Ron had said about her since she had prefect duty right after the feast and whatever he had said was obviously not complimentary.

"Never mind," Ginny grumbled, grabbing a stack of toast, which she unintentionally crushed with her fury-fueled iron grip.

Before Hermione could press on the issue, Ginny pointed a butter-coated knife at her and said conversationally, "Have the schedules been passed out yet?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I think McGonagall's waiting for the whole house to be present before she does." She frowned and looked at the other houses' tables. Flitwick and Sprout had already handed out their students' schedules and there was a flurry of commotion as they all traded their respective charts with each other, seeing what classes they had with their friends. Her eyes then went to the Slytherin table, which she was pleased to see was as schedule-less as her own.

Ginny glanced up and down the table. "Who's missing?"

"Ron," Harry said between bites of bacon. When Ginny's face twisted into one of pure hatred, he hastily added, "I'm sure he'll be here soon, though! He was already dressed when I left."

She sneered. "As always, Ron's being an inconsiderate git." She pounded her fists against the table in a fit of anger. "Did it even cross his mind that we might want our schedules? No, of course it didn't. He's so selfish! He's holding up the entire house!"

"Weaselette, what's got your knickers in a twist?"

The three of them looked up to find Malfoy coolly leaning against the table as if he didn't have a care in the world, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as usual.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Piss off, Ferret Face," she snapped before flipping her hair over her shoulder and turning back to her breakfast in a dismissive manner.

Malfoy feigned offense, dramatically placing his hand on his heart. "That stung. I'm truly hurt by your cruel words. Now, I'll repeat myself since you blood traitors seem so hard of hearing—what's got your knickers in a twist?"

"It doesn't seem to me that Ginny's the one who's hard of hearing," Hermione said, glaring at the blond Slytherin. "She told you to go away, in case you didn't notice."

Malfoy sneered and turned to his cronies. "Oh, look, boys, the know-it-all Mudblood strikes again."

Hermione did her best to keep her face impassive at Malfoy's insults, but it still stung even after all these years. Sure, she had gotten used to his snarky remarks and offensive comments, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. "Leave us alone or I'll take away house points."

Malfoy scoffed. "Looks like Miss Know-It-All doesn't actually know it all. Granger, you can't take points away from your fellow prefects. Plus, we haven't done anything wrong."

"That's not true at all and you know it, Ferret Boy. Crabbe and Goyle are helping you harass younger students and they don't exactly follow the rules, so unless you leave us alone, I'll take ten points away from Slytherin and I'll make sure I pay extra special attention to your 'friends' for the rest of the year. Got it?" Hermione hoped she sounded a lot more confident than she actually felt. It wasn't exactly the best idea to get on the wrong side of Slytherins, especially these three, but they already hated and tormented her, so it wasn't like anything was really going to change. They would just have one more reason to hassle her.

Malfoy looked at her for a long moment with a blank face and cold eyes. She felt like squirming under his gaze, but managed to stare right back at him with a look of pure ferocity. Then, surprisingly, he chortled. "Ahh, and here I was, all these years, thinking that Mudbloods were spineless. You've proven me wrong, Granger. Looks like you've finally evolved into a bitch with a backbone." He smirked and motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him as he sauntered over to the Slytherin table.

"What a tosser," Ginny said, returning to her food. Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement.

The moment Malfoy sat down, Snape appeared and started handing out schedules for his house. Hermione inwardly groaned. Great. They were going to be the last house to get their schedules and it was all because Ronald Weasley couldn't be bothered to make an appearance. She checked her watch and felt even more anxious.

"Harry, it's 8:54. Classes start in six minutes," Hermione said, her voice laced with panic. She could help but notice as students from all three of the other houses started getting up and going to their very first class of the year.

Harry nodded, looking equally anxious, though Ginny still just looked extremely angry and was viciously cutting up some sausage links. Hermione was secretly pleased that she had planned accordingly this morning. She had been worried that something like this would happen, so she had packed every single one of her textbooks into her book bag (which was brand-new and already ripping at the seams) just in case she wouldn't be able to go back to the dorms before her first class.

McGonagall appeared at the head of the Gryffindor table. "It appears that we are still missing a student, but I cannot wait any longer. It seems Mr. Weasley will have to get his schedule at another time." She began methodically passing out the schedules to the students and as soon as anyone got theirs, they would dash out of the hall in an attempt to get to class on time, annoyingly disregarding the rules about running the hallways, though Hermione didn't say anything.

Pushing away the feelings of annoyance with Ron, Hermione grabbed her schedule, examined it, and quickly consulted with Harry as Ginny scampered off. "I've got Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions this morning."

Harry grinned. "Same."

Hermione squealed and hugged him. "This year is going to be great!"

"Oh, totally magically fantastical!" a mocking voice said in a high-pitched imitation of Hermione. "If you're a Mudblood."

"Malfoy, shouldn't you be getting class?" Hermione said sharply to the shadowy figure that loomed above them.

Malfoy snorted. "I have a free period, Granger. It's you and Potty who should be getting class."

"We were just leaving," she snapped, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him away from the table.

* * *

During Herbology, Ron rushed into the greenhouse, flustered and confused. Professor Sprout gave him a disapproving look as he burst through the doors, but then returned to explaining the correct way to dissect a yellow dragonstongue and collect its seeds. Ron glanced around and quickly found Hermione and Harry, who were sharing a dissecting station with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott, joining them.

Before Hermione could start yelling at him for being late, Harry jumped in. "Where were you during breakfast, mate?"

Ron's face flushed. "I had, um, something to do. You know…guy things," he said distantly, grabbing a pair of dragon-hide gloves and putting them on.

"Guy things?" Hermione repeated stupidly. "What does that mean?"

Seamus Finnigan, who had been working at the station in front of them, turned around and smirked. "What do you think it means, Hermione? It means he was having fun in the bathroom!" He started laughing hysterically, soon joined by the rest of the boys—sans Ron—in the immediate vicinity.

Hermione blanched and turned to Hannah Abbott, who looked equally as uncomfortable.

"N—no, that's not it!" Ron claimed, his face the same color as his hair. "I didn't mean it like that! It was definitely not that! I wasn't doing that. Trust me! It was something completely different."

"Ahh, so what were you doing then, Ron?" Seamus inquired.

"Things that are none of your business, Finnigan," Ron snapped before turning to the mountain of long, scaly, canary yellow leaves in front of him. "Okay, so how do we do this? Hermione, explain."

Hermione shot him an annoyed look. "Well, maybe if you had been on time, you would know, but alas, you had guy things to do," she said acidly before pulling out a pair of shears. "Watch carefully, Ronald, or you'll end up cutting off a finger and that would just be horrible."

After demonstrating the proper way to deseed a yellow dragonstongue, Justin, Hannah, and Hermione jumped in and started working through the large pile of plants that had been left for them.

"Remember to pay close attention, students," Sprout said kindly as she walked up and down the large aisle between the stations, watching everybody's work. "This may just be on your N.E.W.T.s." She winked for exaggeration and Hermione felt a little bit more anxious, making sure she cut exactly the same way the professor had demonstrated.

Harry watched for a moment as the two Hufflepuffs and lone Gryffindor worked, before turning to his best friend. "But honestly, where were you this morning?"

Ron shrugged. "Just around."

Harry nodded and Hermione let out a low snort as she listened to her friends' conversation. _Just around? He had completely missed breakfast and he almost made me late to the first class of the year! That self-centered arse! The least he could do was give a good explanation on why he had held up his entire house, _Hermione thought bitterly.

"Riiiiiight," Harry said. "But you weren't at breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry."

"Oh-kay. But what about your schedule? You must've wanted that at least. You were dressed and ready when I left, so where did—"

"Harry, just drop it. I don't want to talk about it," Ron said harshly, crossing his arms.

Harry was about to further his investigation when Hermione's hand shot up and she yelled "Done!" the loudest she possibly could, startling everyone in the entire greenhouse. Ernie Macmillan shot her a dirty look and muttered something under his breath about her being annoying, but she ignored it and smiled as if she had won the Muggle lottery.

Sprout trotted over and regarded her kindly. "Miss Granger, while I'm very pleased that you've finished the task in such a short period of time, this is not a competition."

Hermione frowned. "Oh. Sorry." She blushed slightly, but then perked up. "But while you're here, could you please make sure we did it correctly."

The professor gave her a pained smile, but did as she requested. "It looks, well, perfect. Congratulations, Miss Granger, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, Miss Abbott!" She shot a dirty look at Harry and Ron, who had been lazily hanging back and clearly not helping in the deseeding process. "15 points to Gryffindor, 30 points to Hufflepuff. Next time, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, please do something in this class and might help you learn and prepare for your N.E.W.T.s. I know you've passed your O.W.L.s, but that's no excuse." She then trotted off to help Susan Bones, who appeared to have accidentally chopped off the tip of her finger.

Ron rolled his eyes. "What a soggy old hag."

Hermione turned on her heel and gave him an offended look. "Ron, you can't say things like that about professors! They're to be respected."

Ron rolled his eyes again and sneered. "Don't be a hypocrite. You say things about Trelawney all the time."

She put her hands on her hips. "That's because Trelawney is a fraud. Professor Sprout is a kind woman and you two are just lazy!" She slapped both their arms and they winced. Despite her small size, she packed a punch.

"Ow, Hermione, that hurt," Harry said, cupping his upper arm. The slap wouldn't leave a bruise, but there was definitely going to be a red mark.

"Yeah, stop being such a stuck-up bitch, Hermione," Ron snarled, pulling off his dragon-hide gloves and throwing them down on the ground.

Hermione's eyes widened. Harry looked shocked at what his friend had just said and started to slowly back away, scared of getting hit by one of the hexes that would be flying out of Hermione's wand at any moment. There was a sudden silence throughout the entire greenhouse as everyone turned to watch two-thirds of the Golden Trio argue.

"What did you just say to me, Ronald Weasley?" Hermione growled, her voice low and dangerous, stalking towards him. She felt a lit pang of hurt hit her heart as the boy she considered one of her best friends insulted her in such a cruel way. Sure, she and Ron had had their fair share of arguments, but he had never called her names—that was a job reserved for Draco Malfoy and the rest of his dimwitted Slytherin friends.

Before anyone could say anything, Sprout appeared at Hermione's side and gave Ron a look that went far beyond disappointment. "Mr. Weasley, I looked over your tardiness and your lack of work ethic, but I will not tolerate disrespecting your fellow students or calling them names. I am truly sorry to do this, but 50 points from Gryffindor and a week's worth of detention with Mr. Filch for you."

Ron snorted, as if this didn't matter at all and didn't bother him. "Fine by me." He grabbed his book bag and stormed out of the greenhouse, a dramatic exit to match his dramatic entrance.

"I'm sorry that Mr. Weasley was so crude to you, Miss Granger," Sprout said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "If he is ever rude to you again, please let me or one of the other professors know and it will be promptly taken care of." With that, she returned to Susan Bones' side when the girl began to complain about not being able to feel her left hand at all. "Class is dismissed. Mr. Macmillan, would you please assist me in escorting Miss Bones to the hospital wing?"

Hermione, still stunned, turned to Harry. "What on earth is wrong with him?"

"I dunno," he said, disturbed by this sudden outburst. "You know, he was acting a little strange last night during the feast, don't you think?"

Hermione thought for a moment. She hadn't really been paying attention to either Harry or Ron after the train ride. During the entire feast, she had been chatting away with Ginny, who had temporarily taken on a more positive attitude, and a girl in her year named Fay Dunbar. And then she had gone patrolling around the castle with a few other prefects, looking for lost first years or mischievous seventh years.

"Yes, I suppose," she said as she gathered her things. "I'm really sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to. If you need, maybe I can cast a healing spell or something."

Harry waved it off. "It's okay. I've taken on Voldemort; I can handle a little pain. I did kind of deserve it, though."

She nodded absently. "Do you think something's really wrong with him?"

"Yeah, maybe he's under the Imperius Curse," he said jokingly, falling into step with her.

"That's not funny, Harry. I'm really worried for him. Ron's never lashed out like that before," she said, nibbling on her lower lip. "Maybe you should talk to him or something? I would ask Ginny, but she's all…you know, angry and stuff."

Harry nodded in agreement, promising to "kindly and cautiously interrogate" him tomorrow morning.

* * *

**A/N**: I know there's not a lot of Draco-Hermione action in this chapter, but I'm just setting some things up for later, so please bear with me.


	3. Chapter 3

Ron didn't make an appearance during Care of Magical Creatures, but when Harry and Hermione walked into Potions, he was already there, sharing a cauldron in the back of the room with Terry Boot and Padma Patil, both of whom looked rather uneasy and cautious.

"Um," Harry said awkwardly, taking a sweeping glance over the dungeon, "Do you want to go share a cauldron with Neville?"

Looking at all the other options, Neville seemed to be the best choice and he was sat at the station the farthest away from Ron. Hermione nodded, but before they could even take a step, Malfoy and Blaise Zabini appeared seemingly out of nowhere and sat down on either side of Neville, effectively boxing him in. His face turned bright pink and he frantically looked around, panicked and slightly shaking. Hermione frowned and motioned at the cauldron directly behind the odd trio. If those pompous Slytherins thought they could bully students—especially after she warned Malfoy during breakfast, less than three hours ago—they would be sorely mistaken. Harry nodded and they took their spots, sharing with Lavender Brown, who was staring intently at the bottom of the cauldron. She didn't attempt to make small talk and didn't even look up when they sat down.

"Come on, Longbottom, we're friends, aren't we?" Zabini said, his face wearing a fake friendly smile.

When Neville didn't say anything, Malfoy laughed. "What's wrong? Got warts on your tongue from kissing your frog, Longbottom?"

"It's…Trevor's a toad, not a frog," Neville said quietly.

At this, the two Slytherins burst out laughing. Zabini pat Neville's back in a pseudo-friendly gesture, but Hermione could see the physical force behind the gesture and Neville winced slightly.

Then Malfoy wrapped his arm around the poor Gryffindor's shoulders. "I can tell this is going to be a fun year, eh, _mate_? We're going to have _so much fun_ being potions partners." Then he and Zabini started snickering obnoxiously again.

She couldn't see Neville's face, but Hermione knew her friend was on the verge of tears. Why did everyone bully him? He was a kind and sweet boy—he didn't deserve to be harassed all the time. Without thinking—something Hermione rarely ever did—she stood up and walked so she was standing in front of the odd trio. Harry watched from his seat, slightly amazed at Hermione's bravery. He knew he wasn't supposed to interfere—this was Hermione's fight—but he was there, acting as backup if things got out of control.

"We're trading seats. Now." Her voice was level and controlled. It wasn't a question or a demand. It was simply a statement. And, if they knew what was good for them, they'd do as she said or they'd face the wrath of Hermione Jean Granger.

Malfoy looked momentarily surprised by her authoritative tone before returning to his signature sneer. "I don't take orders from Mudbloods, Granger."

"Now, now, Draco," Zabini said patronizingly, pretending to try to calm down his friend. "Let's cut Granger a break. After all, she's probably suffering from heartbreak after the whole Weasley-in-the-greenhouse incident." He whispered the last sentence, but it was purposely loud enough for the entire class to hear. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Pansy Parkinson let out an undignified snort.

"And now she's come to flirt with Longbottom." Malfoy laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent involuntarily shivers down her back.

She could feel everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her next move. Word had spread about the incident in Herbology like Fiendfyre. That became obvious when, during Care of Magical Creatures, Michael Corner had leaned in close to her and told her that if she needed a shoulder to cry on since her boyfriend was such a jerk, he was there for her. She had just been about to tell him exactly where to shove his wand when Harry had rescued her…well, he had actually rescued Michael Corner from her wrath, but nonetheless.

"And so what if I was? There's nothing wrong with Neville—he's a better person than the both of you," Hermione said as confidently as she could. "In fact, Neville, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

Silence stung the air. Jaws hung wide open. Malfoy and Zabini, along with every other person in the room, looked stunned. Neville's eyes got big. Ron's face had turned a light shade of pink. Harry looked like he was holding back a fit of giggles. Even Lavender, who seemed to have been completely comatose, looked up with a slightly interested expression.

"Uh…um, sure, Hermione, I'd love," Neville eventually spit out, looking slightly flustered.

Hermione smiled kindly at him, ignoring her audience. "Great, then it's settled them."

At that moment, the dungeon doors swung open and Snape strolled in. His beady eyes settled on Hermione. "Miss Granger, may I ask why you are not in your seat? The bell rang three minutes ago," he said greasily, a single eyebrow raised slightly.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I was talking—"

"Frankly, Miss Granger, I don't care. Ten points from Gryffindor. And on the very first day, too. Hmm. That does not bode well for the rest of the year. Take your seat before you lose your house any more points," he said sharply.

Malfoy snickered and shot Hermione a victorious smirk as she slinked back to her spot. Harry consolingly rubbed her shoulder, but she couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed with the whole situation.

Snape strode to the front of the room and stood in front of his desk, glaring menacingly at his students. "Welcome to a new year. I'm sure we're all _ecstatic _to be here again. I know I am," he said flatly. "As you all know, you'll be taking your N.E.W.T.s next year. As always, pay attention, don't mess up, don't be stupid, and don't die. If you can manage those four things, I'm sure you'll pass with flying colors." He walked behind his desk and pulled out Advanced Potion-Making. "I was planning on having a pop quiz of sorts today, but Dumbledore thought it best that we until the second day of school to…torture you. Yes, Longbottom, I know you're pleased that you won't be ruining another cauldron today, but I would prefer it if you not cry. Anyways, open your textbooks and turn to page 563."

_What? Page 563? That's in chapter 27! I've only read to chapter 6! Oh, you're so stupid, Hermione. You should've just read the whole book, but no, you thought he'd go in order. Obviously not. _Hermione frowned as she turned to the directed page. The top read in silver, cursive letters "Elixir of Aitminh." There was a long list of ingredients, though no measurements, and a picture of a small flask filled with a rust-colored liquid with bright blue swirls. She remembered reading that name somewhere, but no facts attached themselves to the three words.

"The Elixir of Aitminh. What can you tell me about it, class?" Snape said, looking around the room, trying to catch an eye. "Miss Granger, surely you know!"

All eyes turned on her and to her mortification, she slowly shook her head.

"No? A pity," he said snidely. "The Elixir of Aitminh was created by an Irish druidess and potioneer thousands of years ago. There have only been seventeen successful attempts to create this potion and the last one was 23 years ago by none other than yours truly. Please, hold your applause." He looked around the class with an expectant smirk. When no one laughed at his joke, he cleared his throat and continued. "It's an extremely complicated potion that takes around four months to brew. If you chose to sell it, it can go for more than seven thousand galleons for a single ounce. The ingredients themselves are extremely expensive." There was a low murmur from the students before they were silenced by Snape's glare. "The only reason it is even in your books is for the sole purpose of educating you. They don't expect sixth year students to actually be able to make it, which is why your textbooks have no instructions or measurements."

Hermione nodded, listening carefully. Admittedly, she was rather impressed that he had managed to make this apparently-nearly-impossible potion. She had always known he was a skilled potioneer—obviously; he was the Potions master at Hogwarts—but she didn't realize he was good enough to make the Elixir of Aitminh. Then again, it might've been pure luck.

"I have decided that we are going to spend some time on this elixir, i.e. we're going to create it. Well, some of us anyways. Yes, Miss Granger?"

"What do you mean _some_ of us, Professor?"

Snape sneered. "I was just getting to that before I was so rudely interrupted by your incessant questions." He turned his eyes back to his class. "Though you all may have been intelligent enough to receive Outstandings on your O.W.L.s, I believe only a select few of you have the brain cells and competence to even _attempt_ to make the elixir. Therefore, I have devised a…competition of sorts. I sincerely doubt any of you will actually manage to brew a working Elixir of Aitminh, but on the off chance that you do, I will allow you to keep the potion and…you may take two already prepared potions from my personal collection. Anything your sniveling little heart desires."

There was a low gasp.

"Yes, yes, it's all very dramatic." He waved their inevitable questions away as if they were invisible flies. "Now, the competition." His eyes shone brightly. "I have decided to put you into pairs. And before you get any idiotic ideas, you may not choose. Friendship, or lack thereof, is irrelevant in my class. Once your partners are decided upon, there will be no switching, complaining, moaning, pleading, begging, smiling, or cheering. I don't care if you hate your partner; I don't care if you love your partner. I don't want to hear it. Understand?" Everyone nodded quickly. "Good. The first stage of this competition is research."

Although already deeply interested, Hermione's ears perked at this. _Research? That meant the library. _

"I expect a complete essay explaining exactly what the potion does and how it does it, its possible side effects, and why each ingredient is necessary and how its properties interact with the other ingredients. It will be due in two weeks' time at the beginning of class, no exceptions. If I am satisfied with your work, you may move on to the second stage. If I am not," his eyes lingered on Neville, "then you will spend your time working on something else far less fascinating. While this competition is going on, we are still having regular class. We can't just spend five months on a single potion. So, we will have designated work days. If you are still in the competition on these days, you may work with your partner. If you are not in the competition, you will read. What you read, I don't care, but you will not bothering me with your existence."

Hermione felt truly excited. A competition? Though grades and class rankings were already their own battle (a battle she was winning by a landslide), an actual competition seemed so much more fun. She wasn't the best at potions, but she knew that she had a better chance than anyone else, except for Snape. She glanced around the classroom, quickly categorizing people into three groups: people she wanted as her partner, people she didn't want as her partner, and people who she would kill if they were her partner. All the Slytherins fell into the third category.

Without another word, Snape walked out of the classroom, his robes dancing behind him.

Hermione leaned into Harry and whispered, "I hope we're partners."

Harry nodded. "Me too."

Snape suddenly reappeared in the doorway, holding a plain silver tray. On it sat a piece of parchment, an orange and green quill, and an object covered with some tarp.

"Is there anyone who does not wish to compete?" he asked, eyeing Neville with a raised brow. Nobody raised their hand and the professor nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

He set the tray down on his desk and with a flourish of his wand, the quill and parchment sprang to life. Immediately, the two enchanted items began to fly around the room. They stopped directly in front of Theodore Nott, jotted something down, and moved on to Terry Boot. The quill and parchment continued like this, making a quick round of the classroom in under a minute, before returning to float above the tray. Snape's wand swished again and the quill fell onto his desk, lifeless, while the parchment began tearing itself into pieces. Once satisfied with itself, about twenty or so pieces of parchment floated around the Potion master's desk.

Snape pulled back the tarp, revealing a simple goblet. It was about twice the size of a normal cup, made of pewter, with a gold cord wrapped around the base.

"Hermione, is it just me or does that thing remind you of the Goblet of Fire?" Harry whispered.

She nodded.

Suddenly, the pieces of parchment all flew into the goblet and purple flames burst from the rim. Snape regarded it with an uninterested expression while his students stared at it with awe. "I've bewitched this goblet to choose your partners for you so you don't think that I'm playing favorites." His eyes rested on Hermione and Harry and then flickered over to Ron. "Like I said before, your partner is your one and only partner, plain and simple. The only way they stop being your partner is if you're eliminated from the competition or you forfeit." He moved around so he stood behind the desk. "Everybody get up and go to the back of the room."

Everybody quickly gathered their books and bags and stood against the wall, facing their professor.

"Once I have called your name, find your partner and sit down with them. Don't bother trying to trade—I'm watching you." With that, he tapped his wand on the goblet's rim and two pieces of parchment spluttered out. "Blaise Zabini, Terry Boot." He tapped the rim again. "Neville Longbottom, Ernie Macmillan." _Tap_. "Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson." At this, both Gryffindors and Slytherins muttered their condolences for their friends, who each stepped forward and sized each other up.

"Ladies first," Pansy said, practically pushing Ron over as she took her seat.

"I don't see any ladies, I just see pugs," Ron retorted, pulling out his own chair.

Pansy snapped her head up and growled. "I'd watch it if I were you, Weasel, or you might just wake up one morning to find your pretty little hair all gone."

"Like you have the skill to curse me," he snorted.

"Quiet!" Snape snapped. "There will be no silly arguments or pathetic fighting in my classroom. While I welcome you to hex each other into oblivion so I don't have to deal with you, I would rather not be left with the unfortunate task of cleaning up your messes. So kill each other elsewhere." _Tap_. "Lavender Brown, Theodore Nott." _Tap_. "Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas."

The two Gryffindors smiled and high-fived each other before finding their seats. Hermione wished she would get as lucky as those two had. The only two suitable options for partners left were Harry or Padma Patil.

_Tap_. "Padma Patil, Harry Potter."

She inwardly groaned. Harry shot her a look that said_, I'm really sorry, but this wasn't my choice and of course I would've chosen you if I could've_, as he walked away. Hermione felt her excitement over the competition lull out as panic replaced it. She wanted to win. If this potion was as hard to brew as Snape had made it seem, it would be a definite challenge. But Hermione Granger was the cleverest witch of her year, she had faced Voldemort, and she was a perfectionist. She was going to win and nothing was going to stop her. To do this, she really didn't want to be paired with incompetent idiots or Slytherins. Which one was worse, Hermione wasn't sure.

"Michael Corner, Hannah Abbott." _Tap_. "Anthony Goldstein, Susan Bones."

A feeling settled into the pit of her stomach, something that felt like a mixture of fear, panic, and apprehension. There were only a few other students left. If she got paired with—no,_ no_. Absolutely not. Never in a million years. She would rather wander the Forbidden Forest alone, at night, without her wand, blindfolded. She would rather befriend Dolores Umbridge. She would rather eat a thousand cockroach clusters. She would rather be banned from the library.

Chancing a look, she quickly glanced over at him. He was leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed, staring blankly at nothing in particular. His hair was coiffed and perfect and, even in the dungeon's horrible lighting, his milk-white skin had a beautiful pearlescent glow. His profile was angular and aristocratic and he was slender, yet muscular. Why was such an evil boy so amazing to look at? Hermione looked away and glared at the goblet, wishing that it would pair her with anyone else.

Hermione clamped her eyes shut and prayed silently. _Dear Merlin, please don't make me work with an arrogant, self-centered, obnoxious, ignorant jerk. I really, really, really don't want to. In fact, I think if I have to, I might kill him. I don't want to be a killer, but let's be honest—it would be completely justified. I mean, look at all that he's—_

_Tap_. "Millicent Bulstrode, Zacharias Smith."

_Well, thanks for all your help, Merlin. You're a heck of a guy. Remind me to burn my Chocolate Frog Card of you. _

"Well, well, well," Snape said quietly. He was smirking, looking rather pleased, as if the entire situation was hilarious. "Looks like there are only two left." And, then, just because he could (as if it wasn't already obvious who the last pair was), his wand lightly touched the goblet rim.

_Tap_. "Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Yeah, I don't really know what's going on in this chapter. I was really uninspired, so it kind of sucks. Some characters are a little OOC. And Malfoy's kind of a giant ass in this chapter, so I'm sorry. But I spent three days on it, so I think this is as good as it's going to get. My apologies.

* * *

Draco Malfoy didn't move. He kept his face expressionless as he regarded his favorite teacher. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Granger's face. As expected, she looked horrified. He was slightly offended—he should be the horrified one, not her. She would get to work with _him_, Draco Lucius Malfoy. He would _have_ to work with her, Hermione Know-It-All Granger.

Although, secretly, it wasn't all _that_ terrible in his opinion. He had definitely wanted to be paired with Blaise or perhaps a Ravenclaw, but Granger was significantly better than the Weasel or Potter. At least, despite her blood status, she was smart. While she was a painfully annoying walking encyclopedia, Draco had originally assumed that she just memorized facts and that was why she was the "cleverest witch in their year." But, after taunting her and having her come up with unique comebacks that kept him on his toes, he realized she was truly intelligent and she had wit, something most people truly lacked. While it wasn't the absolute worst situation he could be in, he was still not pleased with this arrangement.

"Excuse me?" Draco said coldly. "I don't want to work with the Mudblood."

A few people gasped and Potter stood up, the hero as always. "You have no right to call her that, Ferret!"

"Mr. Potter, sit down," Snape demanded. "I can discipline my own students without your…_assistance_." He turned to Draco, his features impassive. "Mr. Malfoy, please refrain from using such inappropriate and vulgar terms in my classroom. I'm sorry that you have not been paired with your desired partner, but like I said before, no switching. So, you can either forfeit or take a seat with Miss Granger."

The words, "Fine, I quit then," were on the tip of his tongue but before he could say them, Granger appeared in his line of vision, her unruly hair blocking his view of the rest of the room. She stood a foot away and up close, he could see that her eyes were blazing with annoyance, anger, and determination. To anyone else, it would have been intimidating, but Malfoys were never intimidated. Especially not by Muggle-borns.

She poked his chest, her nail digging into his skin through his shirt. "You're not forfeiting, you self-centered twit, because that would mean I have to forfeit too. And I want to win. So you're just going to have to suck it up and stop being such a _pansy_."

His face twisted into one of outrage. "How dare you talk to me like that, you filthy—"

"Yes, we've all heard it before, Malfoy," she snapped, interrupting him. "I'm a filthy Mudblood, you're better than me, I'm a bushy-haired freak, my teeth are terrible, I smell like rotten eggs, blah, blah, blah." She put her hands on her hips and sneered. "I would recommend that you get some new insults, because you keep repeating the same ones over and over again. Frankly, it's getting old. So, until you find a little thing called creativity, you're going to sit down and be my partner. Okay, _partner_?"

For a long moment, Draco Malfoy was actually speechless. Sure, he had argued with Granger before and, admittedly, she was rather fiery and confident, but he had never been told off like that. It was like getting slapped again. She had verbally slapped him and it kind of hurt. No one else had ever stood up to him like that and if they had, they soon realized their mistake. But Granger wasn't the type of person to be intimidated by Draco or his bodyguards. She was a force to be reckoned with, gutsy and aggressive.

He could actually _feel_ the respect for her starting to build. It was rather unnerving that a Mudblood could gain his admiration. He only had respect for two other people in the world: his father and Severus Snape. There was something seriously wrong with him if he was starting to admire Granger of all people.

But just because he was starting to "respect" her didn't mean that he was going to be nice or anything.

"I know you're still upset that the Weasel broke your heart, Granger, but you don't have to take your anger out on me," Draco drawled coolly. There were a few dispersed chuckles. Blaise and Pansy probably.

Her glare hardened and, for a minute, he was sure she was going to slap him again, detentions and house points be damned. But then she grabbed his wrist with an iron grip and practically pushed him into a nearby seat. He was about to make a remark about Mudbloods not being allowed to touch him, but decided against for the sake of his easily bruised visage.

"I assume Mr. Malfoy will not be forfeiting then?"

Granger shot him a deadly look and Draco reluctantly shook his head. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, as it should be, but not for this reason. They should be staring at him in awe and envy because he was rich, intelligent, and handsome, not because he was just verbally smack-talked by one of Potter's friends. He may have had the last word, but it was clear to everyone that she had won the battle.

He told himself that he actually wanted to compete and that was why he had given into Granger's demands. And it was true. Draco learned a long time ago that Malfoys were winners and anything they tried to do, they succeeded at. He was going to win—it didn't matter who his partner was; hell, it could be Longbottom—because he was Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy was not a loser. Besides, he liked to be tested. And while the whole "Elixir of Aitminh" thing would be difficult, working with Hermione Granger was going to be the bigger challenge.

"We have ten minutes left of class. Use it wisely and consult with your partner about the project. I don't care if you can't figure out a time, that's your problem. Do not bother me."

* * *

Hermione quickly decided the best way to deal with this entire fiasco would be to take control. She wasn't going to let Malfoy bully her like he bullied everyone else. She was going to tell him what's what, whether he liked it or not.

She turned to face him. He was looking at his hands, which were folded together on the desk. At least he wasn't throwing a temper tantrum. "Malfoy?"

He turned to face her, an amused smirk on his face. She had the sudden urge to slap his obnoxious face again. Why was he always looking at her like everything she did or said was so utterly stupid it was laughable? He quirked an eyebrow, silently telling her to continue.

"I'm going to be in the library tomorrow at four o'clock," she stated. "You can show up, you can choose not to. Whatever you want. I don't really care."

He rolled his eyes. "Granger, this might surprise you, but I want to win too and I'm not leaving the entire essay up to the likes of you. While some people may think that you're the 'cleverest witch in our year,' I know better and I am not trusting some conceited, know-it-all Gryffindor Mudblood to get me to the second stage of the competition," he said, sneering.

"Did you just call me conceited?" Hermione scoffed. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Malfoy, you are the most conceited, self-obsessed, arrogant, ignorant, daft, selfish, idiotic person I have ever met. And I use the term 'person' loosely."

"Yes, I think the words 'sex god' would be far more accurate." He shot her a devious grin.

She turned away, facing the front of the room instead of him, and crossed her arms. "Four o'clock, tomorrow, library," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, sorry, Granger, that won't do."

"And why not?"

"Quidditch."

"Do me a small favor and at least come up with believable lies, Malfoy. I know for a fact that Quidditch tryouts are in two weeks," she said huffily. "You'll have plenty of other chances to practice."

Malfoy reached out and grabbed two of the legs of her chair, turning them so she was facing him. His face was impassive, but his tone was harsh and cold. "I would appreciate it if you didn't call me a liar, Granger."

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't call me a Mudblood, Malfoy," she snapped, turning her chair back around.

He leaned in close, his breath hot on her neck. She didn't dare to move and kept her gaze intently on the jar of pickled newt eyes that sat on the shelf behind Snape's desk, ignoring the prickling sensation that ran down her spine caused by his closeness. "But see, the difference is that you are a Mudblood. I am not a liar," he whispered, every single one of his words emphasized by his breathing, before gracefully leaning back in his chair and casually flicking some hair out his eyes.

"Malfoy, liar. The two words go hand in hand," she snarked.

He growled. "I am not a liar," he spat, his words venomous and cold, but his voice still level and calm. "I am the Slytherin Quidditch captain this year and tomorrow, all the captains from all four houses are meeting to set up schedules for tryouts and practices for this school term. Ask your precious Potter if you think I'm _lying_."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. "Oh," she said softly.

"I'm waiting for an apology."

Ignoring her growing embarrassment, she faced him and gave him an overly sweet fake smile. "But I thought Snape wanted to win the house cup this year. Why would he choose you? I mean, it's not like you're a great strategist and, honestly, your actual Quidditch skills are rather lacking. I would've assumed he'd choose someone far more qualified, like Zabini or Montague." Her tone was saccharine, but the meaning of her words was quite clear.

Hermione actually thought she saw a flash of hurt cross his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Malfoy's already cold grey eyes turned to stone and he turned away. What was this? Was the ever-witty and snappy Malfoy backing down? That was strange. Had she hurt his ego? Was he really that sensitive about his Quidditch skills?

Ignoring a small pang of guilt for hurting his…feelings—really, did Slytherins even have feelings?—she said briskly, "Fine. When?"

He was silent for a long time and she thought that maybe he wouldn't answer her, but then he brusquely replied, "Wednesday. Four o'clock."

"Fine," she repeated. "Don't be late."

She swiftly turned away, trying to ignore the quiet anger radiating off the boy sitting next to her, and looked at the tables around her. Harry and Padma Patil were creating charts of their respective schedules so they could find times that would work for both of them. Two rows in front of them sat Ron and Pansy Parkinson, who looked like they were about to strangle each other.

"No, you listen to me, Pugface Parkinson, I—"

"No, you listen to me, Weasel Boy, or I will kick your arse all the way to Ireland! We are working on this when I say we are, got that?"

Ron was about to make a somewhat-snappy comeback when the bell rang. Quickly, everyone filed out of the classroom. Without another glance at Malfoy, Hermione stood up and fell into step with Harry. Ron, who seemed to be ignoring them completely, had walked ahead and was talking with Dean and Seamus. Hermione couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with her best friend, but pushed the thought aside. She wasn't going to talk to him at all unless he sincerely apologized for what he had done. And she was going to dwell.

Harry looked at her pityingly. "I feel really awful. I mean, Malfoy of all people."

"I know," she said glumly, staring at her feet as she walked. "But I think he might actually help. Although, we might kill each other before we even start."

"What are you doing, Granger?"

Hermione started as Malfoy and Zabini appeared at her side. Regaining her compose, she smirked, imitating the blond Slytherin. "Talking to my friend. I know friendship must be a foreign concept to you, as you buy all your associates."

Zabini looked like he was about to chuckle, but stopped himself.

Malfoy curled his lip. "Yes, _friendship_." He said the word with a disgusted tone, as if the mere thought of it was vomit-inducing. Sneering, he continued. "Just don't think that because you're friends or whatever that you have to help Potter or your idiotic Weasel, okay? The competition has already begun. That means you're not going to check their work or let them borrow books or anything like that. While I may not like working with a Mudblood, I'm still planning on winning and I'm not going to lose because of _friendship_."

With that, he and Zabini strode off.

Hermione was on the verge of hexing them, right then and there, for being such obnoxious and conceited arses, when someone lightly tapped her shoulder. She spun around to see Neville, looking awkward and unsure of himself.

"Hi, Neville."

"Hey, Harry."

"Hi, Neville."

"Hey, Hermione. . Look, um, I appreciate you standing up for me and everything—"

"What? Oh, don't worry about it, Neville," she said, waving it off. "It was no problem at all."

"Well, still, thanks. But you don't have to go to Hogsmeade with me."

"No, it's fine. I'd be happy to go with you."

Neville looked around, not meeting her gaze. "Right, well, that's nice and all, but I kind of already have plans. See, Luna and I were going to go to Madam Puddifoot's to look for Aquavirius Maggots. Luna thinks Madam Puddifoot puts them in the coffee, but she wants evidence, and volunteered to help her and…"

Hermione's cheeks heated. "Oh. I'm so sorry. I had no idea you had plans already. I feel terrible for putting you in such an awkward situation. Of course we don't have to go together. I hope you and Luna have a great time together."

Neville smiled, thanked her for understanding, and waved goodbye as he walked off to class.

"Today just seems to be a bundle of embarrassing moments strung together, doesn't it?" Hermione said, more to herself than anyone else, again staring at her feet.

Harry put his arm around her shoulders in a consoling way and steered her in the direction of her next class.

* * *

Hermione was not pleased to see Malfoy in her History of Magic class. Not pleased at all. She was even further disgruntled to see that there were only eight students in the class, total. She was beyond annoyed when, after Professor Binns told them they could sit anywhere they want, she chose to sit by the window and he chose to sit right behind her.

Peeved, she snapped her head around and glared at him. "What are you doing?"

"What?"

"Why are you sitting here?" she clarified.

"Because your bushy hair completely blocks Binns' view of me so I can sleep. Not that he'd really notice, I suppose, but you never know."

Irked by his answer but with nothing else to say, she turned back around and glared daggers at nothing in particular. She couldn't even focus on whatever the professor was saying, not that it was ever easy with his monotone voice and dull words, but now it was especially hard. Why her? Why _Malfoy_? She'd rather be surrounded by twenty-thousand overly-cheerful, talkative Lavender Browns than one pesky Malfoy.

Fifteen minutes later, when her nerves had finally managed to relax just a bit and when the words of her textbook were finally starting to sink into her brain, something hit the back of her head. It took ever single measly ounce of her willpower not to spin around, scream at him, and curse him with the worst hexes she could think of.

Ten seconds ticked by before a foot tapped the back of her chair. She didn't respond. A finger poked her shoulder. She bit her lip and stared at her balled fists.

"Granger," a quiet, sing-song voice murmured. When she didn't say anything, the taunting voice got louder. "Granger, I think there's something stuck in your rat's nest."

Just to get him to leave her alone, she blindly ran her fingers through her hair. There was something tangled deep in her unruly curls. After a minute, she finally managed to get it free and looked at it. It was an enchanted origami swan. Hermione was momentarily stunned at how beautiful it was, once perfectly creased and amazingly detailed. In her hair, it had crumpled slightly and now its neck was bent awkwardly, but its wings still flapped slightly. Frowning and against her better judgment, she looked over her shoulder at Malfoy. He was watching her; she felt his fiery gaze, like it was boring into her soul. He made a motion, like unfolding something, and then looked away and out the window.

As she pulled the paper apart, the wings stopped moving. Elegant, lazy scrawl filled the page. Her frown deepened as she read it, etching into her face.

_Dear Granger,_

_I am truly sorry for making fun of your relationship with Weaselbee. I can see now how much I hurt your feelings. I understand that he must've meant a lot to you since he's probably the only boy idiotic enough to actually date you. I honestly hope we win the competition. Perhaps after, you can get a beautification potion from Snape. Then you won't be so horrible to look at and Weasley will take you back. You'll be doing everyone else a favor too. Personally, in the morning, I can barely manage to eat a slice of toast. Your face just makes me nauseous and I have a stomach of steel. I can only imagine how others feel.  
_

_But one can only hope, I suppose.  
_

_Can't wait till Wednesday._

_Your close friend,_

_DM_

Hermione could feel tears well up, but she blinked them back. His insults weren't exactly witty, but they were still hurtful. He had managed to hit all of her biggest insecurities. She had always tried to be the bigger person, to ignore his insults and not let them get under her skin, but he always managed to anyways. It was like he could sense her weak spots and he never went easy, throwing harsh jabs and digs at her every second he got. He was relentless.

She never liked to admit it—hell, she never had admitted it, out loud, at least—but she was afraid. She knew she wasn't beautiful; she was barely average. Her hair was a mess, her too-pale skin was far from perfect, and her eyes were a plain brown. She was 5'5" and thin. She had some curves, but not a lot, and the ones that she did have were hidden under long, shapeless robes. And if her looks weren't enough of a turnoff, her personality sure was. She wasn't flirty like other girls; she was one of the guys. She was a bookworm with a temper who had no trouble telling people that they were wrong. Hermione knew she wasn't exactly tantalizing or alluring and she was well aware that boys wouldn't be falling all over her, but she still had hopes. At sixteen, she had realized those hopes were stupid. Only one boy had ever shown even mild interest but that was two years ago. Even so, she held on to the naive idea that one day she'd find a boy who would love her. Malfoy's words resonated in her mind and the idea that, on her deathbed, she might look back and see only loneliness forced a single tear to shed.

Hermione felt even more self-conscious than normal. But then she felt her blood boil with anger. Refusing to let him win, she calmly pulled a self-inking quill out of her bag and wrote a quick reply.

* * *

Draco wasn't quite sure what drove him to write that note. Even as the words spilled from his quill, he knew he was being too cruel. But he couldn't stop himself. He _needed_ to tear her down. He _needed_ her to be weak and insecure. _Why am I doing this?_ he asked himself. Deep down, he knew why. His budding respect for her. Draco couldn't respect Hermione Granger. She was a Mudblood, a Gryffindor, Potter's best friend, the Weasel's girlfriend, an irksome know-it-all.

But she was strong, defiant, proud. That he could respect.

So what could he do to stop his admiration from growing?

Hurt her. Cut her down. Break her.

It was sadistic and cold-blooded, perhaps even heartless. But he was a Slytherin. Who would think any less of him?

He had expected her to just take the verbal assault and lie down like a dying dog. But, as she carelessly threw his enchanted swan back at him without even looking, he remembered that she was strong, defiant, and proud.

He unfurled the letter.

_Malfoy,  
_

_I'm sorry. I never meant to blind people with my hideous visage, but it's really not my fault. Maybe, so you can keep your appetite, you should stop staring at me. Honestly, people are going to start getting ideas. I think that this would be the best course of action. And, as a personal favor to you, I won't even go to the Great Hall on the morning of Slytherin Quidditch games to distract you. That way, you can get a good, healthy breakfast (sans the nausea I incite with my mere presence) before your team loses. I'm still a bit confused as to why they chose someone so inept to be captain, but I guess beggars can't be choosers. Although, beggars can be losers. And Slytherins are, by definition, nothing but a group of losers. Hmm, I suppose it does make sense after all.  
_

_With undying affection,_

_A Filthy Mudblood  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: I don't know how Hogwarts schedules work, so I just assumed they were like block schedules, so that's why they have different classes on different days (i.e. on Mondays and Wednesdays, Hermione has Herbology first period, but on Tuesdays and Thursdays she has Arithmancy; Fridays rotate between the two classes).

* * *

**Tuesday, September 3rd**

Draco glared at the stone floor as it went by, his feet carrying him to the Great Hall for a very late dinner. It was only the second day of school and he already felt like falling into a deep coma and never waking up. The meeting with the other houses' Quidditch captains didn't really help that feeling.

_"I've said this a thousand times already—I want Wednesday!"_

_Grace Youngblood shot Erik Vanderhoof a scathing glare. "And I've told you a thousand times already, the only time I can have my tryouts is on Wednesday. No other day is possible for me."_

_Vanderhoof snorted. "Oh, right, I'm so sorry. Obviously we have to arrange everything around your precious schedule, huh? Well, I don't care. I want Wednesday and I'm not taking any other day."_

_Youngblood looked like she was going to attack him and rip him to shreds, but she simply put her hands on her hips and hardened her glare. Draco had to admit, for a Ravenclaw, she was rather intimidating. "I'm giving you one chance, Hoof. Give up Wednesday and we'll go easy on you the first game of the season. Maybe, out of pity and the goodness of my heart, for once I'll let one of your Chasers score."_

_The seventh year Hufflepuff smirked arrogantly, leaning against the table. "Tell me something, Grace, if I give you Wednesday, will you let me score?"_

_Potter snorted into his pumpkin juice._

_Draco raised a single eyebrow, mildly interested. It was no secret that Youngblood was dating Wesley Burnett, a large, burly, and rather possessive Slytherin who could, without a doubt, beat Vanderhoof into a pulp, with or without magic. Not that she needed her boyfriend to do her dirty work—she was well-known for being an extremely aggressive Beater who did wonders with a bat and who had no qualms about causing serious brain damage or knocking people off their brooms two hundred feet in the air. _

_But instead of threatening him, she glowered and said in a tight voice, "I'll pretend you didn't just say that." Turning to Draco and Potter, she said, "As I've said before, I'm busy the rest of the week. I've got homework, I'm tutoring, I'm Head Girl, and I've got a social life."_

_Vanderhoof sneered. "Oh, so you can't do any other day of the week because you're too busy snogging a bumbling Slytherin oaf?"_

_Draco stood up very suddenly. He already hated this obnoxious Hufflepuff, but now he was insulting the best house in Hogwarts and Draco would not sit idly by. Leaning in close, his eyes narrowed and dangerous, he growled lowly, "Do you have something to say about Slytherins, Hufflehoof?"_

_"And so what if I do?" he said haughtily._

_"If you do, I'd say you'd better watch your back. And for that matter, your whole house should watch their backs. In case you've forgotten, Slytherins have no problem with sending you or your little puffs to the hospital wing for the rest of the year," Draco snarled before sitting back down, propping his feet up on the table._

_Potter cleared his throat. "Look, we've been at this for three hours and we haven't even gotten to schedules for training. Honestly, Vanderhoof, you should just suck it up and pick another date, because I'm siding with Grace on this. The Ravenclaws are getting Wednesday." He looked around for support. Youngblood, who had glaring daggers at the Hufflepuff, gave a curt nod and Draco grudgingly shrugged in agreement. "Great. Malfoy's taking Monday and I'm taking Thursday, so you can have Tuesday or Friday."_

_"No. If I can't have Wednesday, then I want Monday."_

_Draco's blood started to boil. _What is wrong with this Hufflepuff idiot? First, he's picking a fight with Youngblood and now he's trying to start something with _me_? I'm Draco bleeding Malfoy. I run Slytherin, the house with the most manipulative, cunning, and possibly insane students in the entire school, and he's arguing with _me_? How has this moron not been punched in the face yet?

_"Monday is mine, Hufflehoof."_

_"I want it."_

_"Too bad, I already claimed it."_

_"Like I said, I want it."_

_He clenched his jaw. Normally, he wouldn't let anyone get under his skin, especially petty Hufflepuffs, but there was something about this guy that just set Draco off. And being stuck in a small room for three hours with only Potter and a Ravenclaw as entertainment was not doing wonders for his temper. "At the beginning of this bloody meeting, I said I wanted Monday. I didn't hear any protests, therefore, it's mine," he said coldly. "If you wanted it, you should've said something, but you didn't. It's too late to go back now."_

_"No it's not. We haven't written anything down yet," Vanderhoof said, grabbing the unmarked parchment as proof. "So, you can either give up Monday or—"_

_"Listen here, you slimy little wart, Monday is mine and I'm not giving it up, so I would suggest you save your threats for people who can be intimidated by weak little Hufflepuffs like you," Draco said, working hard to keep his fists at his side and his face cold. "I get Monday, you get Tuesday, Youngblood gets Wednesday, Potter gets Thursday. There are to be no more questions, complaints, or demands, especially from the likes of you."_

_Youngblood grabbed the parchment from Vanderhoof's hands and quickly wrote the schedule down with Potter hovering over her shoulder. "There. It's official. No turning back now."_

_Draco smirked at the look of pure disbelief on Vanderhoof's face._

After another hour of arguing, they all came to the one-of-a-kind agreement to meet later in the week to deal with training schedules. Draco shuddered at the thought of being stuck in a room with those three for hours at a time, listening to Vanderhoof's obnoxious and poorly thought out comments.

Distracted by his hunger and images of violently beating the Hufflepuffs during their first game and sending his Beaters after a certain player, it took Draco a moment to realize that Pansy Parkinson was by his side, hanging onto his arm and batting her unnaturally long lashes at him.

"Hi, Drakey-poo," she cooed, standing on the tips of her toes so she could kiss his cheek.

"Hello, Pansy," he said, ignoring her horrid nickname for him and wiping off the sticky lip gloss her kiss had left. He tried to pull his arm away, but her grip was too strong and with each tug, her talon-like nails dug deeper into his skin.

"Why weren't you at dinner?" she said, looking up at him with wide green eyes. "I missed you." She clasped one of her hands with his and ran the other one up and down his arm.

"I had things to do."

"Things? What kind of things?"

"Just things."

"Oh."

She flipped her long black hair and rested her head on his shoulder. He tried not to roll his eyes. Despite making it very clear how he felt about her and how many girls he snogged right in front of her, Pansy seemed to think that they were dating, following him around like a lost little pup. She didn't seem to realize that Draco only used her for an occasional snogging when there were no other options around. She constantly tried to elicit romantic gestures from him, asking him loaded questions or flirting with other boys in an attempt to make him jealous—it never worked. It wasn't that Pansy was undesirable. She was somewhat attractive and she was a pureblood, but she was also annoying and clingy and every time she opened her mouth, Draco felt like ripping his ears off. Zabini and Nott always volunteered to take his leftovers, but Pansy spurned their advances, choosing to be ignored by him rather than fawned over by others. While it was flattering, it was also very irritating.

Following him into the Great Hall, she blabbered on about her day and gossiped about practically everybody. Draco didn't even bother pretending to listen, taking a seat at the Slytherin table and piling his plate with turkey legs, mashed potatoes, and buttered rolls. Just as he was about to begin on his own personal feast, his fork paused mid-air, the mention of a single name in Pansy's incessant chatter sticking out.

"Wait, what did you say about Vanderhoof?"

She smiled, seemingly pleased that he was actually talking to her for once. "I said that she's been flirting with all the Slytherin boys."

"She? While I agree that most Hufflepuff boys are rather androgynous, I'm fairly certain Erik Vanderhoof is a boy."

"No, silly," she giggled, playfully smacking his arm. "Lilian Vanderhoof, Erik's little sister. She's a fifth year Hufflepuff. Short, blonde, in Gobstones Club." At Draco's blank expression, she added, "She's best friends with those Mudbloods, Marilyn Harper and Jack Weiss. And she's a prefect."

He nodded, a distant memory of this girl's face in his mind. "Right. So, she's a tart?"

Pansy smirked. "She's the biggest tart in Hufflepuff. She's dated every fifth year boy in Hufflepuff, not to mention half of the sixth years and a few fourth years. Now she's trying to get with boys in other houses. Blaise was telling me how she was flirting with all the Slytherins in her Transfiguration class."

"She's looking for a snake, eh?"

She snorted. "I suppose. As if they'd go for her—she's a half-blood _and_ a Hufflepuff. Plus, she's not even that pretty."

He nodded again, taking in her words. "So, Pans, do you know if the Vanderhoofs are close?"

* * *

**Wednesday, September 4th**

Hermione's eyes glazed over and the words floated off the page. She let out a yawn and sleepily blinked.

It was an early Wednesday morning. Large windows let in pale streams of sunlight that bathed the entire library in a golden glow. There was a peaceful, calm energy that flowed between the rows of shelves that made Hermione's lids heavy and her breathing slow. Feeling much too relaxed, she shook her head and stretched.

Glancing down at the heavy, thick red leather-bound book with yellowed pages that sat in front of her, she let out a pained sigh. _The Complete Encyclopedia of Charms, Potions, and Everything in Between, Edition 219_—more than four-thousand worn pages of nothing but spells and ingredients, their definitions and uses written in incredibly small font. The table beneath groaned under the weight.

Two nights before, Hermione had decided to give in to some mild curiosity and do some light research on the Elixir of Aitminh. After three hours in the library and two more hours in the Common Room, those three words were not seen once in the dozens of books she had referenced. Her curiosity piqued, she spent her free period on Tuesday and another four hours that night in the library, skimming pages and checking sources. Her end result was absolutely nothing. Even her favorite go-to books for when she was truly stumped—which was rare—held no answers for her.

After a restless night of wonder and deep interest, Hermione had woken with a start that morning, suddenly remembering the large volume that sat in the back of the library, completely untouched for years. Her need for answers had resulted in her standing outside the library for a good hour before Madam Pince showed up. Hermione had rushed to find the encyclopedia and now, after thumbing through only eight pages, her lack of sleep was starting to catch up with her.

She knew it was unnecessary to start researching right now, tearing through books like a maniac. But she was curious and determined and the Elixir of Aitminh stomped out all other thoughts. The only problem was that it was proving to be nearly impossible to find, something that Hermione guessed went in tandem with the fact that it was supposedly nearly impossible to brew. If it wasn't for page 563 in her Advanced Potion-Making textbook, Hermione would've bet all her galleons that Snape simply made the entire thing up and was sending his sixth year students on a wild goose chase just for a good laugh. Not that Snape ever laughed.

Her stomach rumbled and she let out a resigned groan, closing the encyclopedia. She'd just have to come back later. She was aware that it wasn't exactly practical to force herself to search right now. She was too hungry and too tired at the moment to do any useful research. Besides, she would have tonight to work on the essay. And Malfoy would be there to help. Supposedly. At the thought of the Slytherin Prince, she groaned again. She had learned yesterday that, for some absolutely awful reason, she and the devil's spawn himself had many classes together. Too many. Just one class would have been too much.

But as it turned out, Malfoy was rather intelligent. Hermione always knew that he had to have some brain cells, especially to be in N.E.W.T.-level Potions, but she didn't think he was smart enough to also be taking the high level, extremely difficult classes that she had chosen.

But then again, she thought smugly, he was idiotic enough to be taking Divination.

_After walking in to the Arithmancy classroom on Tuesday morning to see Malfoy lounging around, she had demanded to see his time-table and was beyond disappointed to discover that, aside from three classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and rotating Fridays, they had every single class together. Pushing aside her deep annoyance, she sneered. "You're taking Divination?"_

_"Yeah. I think it'll come in handy one day. I'll be able to predict which girl will be the most likely to pull down their—"_

_"You do know that Trelawney is a fake, right?" she interrupted, not wanting him to continue on whatever lewd path his mind was taking him on._

_He smirked. "Maybe, but I think taking a class with a loony professor is a lot better than taking Muggle Studies, don't you, Nott?" Malfoy asked, turning to the lanky Slytherin boy who was sitting next to him and leering openly at Hermione._

_Theodore Nott nodded and his long face twisted into a mocking smile. "Why do _you _need to take Muggle Studies? You're a Mudblood."_

_With that, Malfoy took back his time-table and told her to leave them alone because she was soiling the air they breathed with her presence. She huffily walked off, taking a seat on the opposite side of the room._

It was now 7:21, too late to go back to bed. The Great Hall would, undoubtedly, be almost empty. With the idea of just sitting alone and drinking a cup of tea quietly in her mind, Hermione left the library and made her way to breakfast. Ignoring the few students that were scattered throughout the hall, she took her usual seat. After sliding her bag under her bench, she finally looked up to see Parvati Patil halfway down the table, looking disheveled and annoyed, quietly talking to herself.

Hermione smiled hesitantly.

Parvati, realizing she wasn't alone, returned a forced smile. "Good morning."

"Hi," she said with a slight wave. "What are you doing up so early? You always sleep late."

Parvati practically scrambled over and in a mere second, she was sitting where Ron usually sat. "Oh, Hermione! Thank Merlin I have you to talk to," she said, seizing this opportunity to rant about whatever was bothering her. "Lavender is being absolutely crazy. Last night, in the Common Room, I was reading Witch Weekly and there was this article on this perfume that makes you irresistible—I suppose it's kind of like a love potion, but not really; it's more like, any person of the preferred gender who are within ten feet of you when you're wearing the perfume become instantly smitten, but if they leave the ten feet perimeter, they're back to normal. Anyways, I was trying to talk to Lav and make her smile, because for some reason, she's been really, _really_ upset lately, and I was like, 'What kind of crazy witch would want this perfume? I guess all the ones covered in warts and boils.' Like, free will and stuff, you know? In my opinion, you shouldn't use magic on boys…or girls or whoever for romantic stuff. It should be by choice. And Lav totally thinks the same thing, but then she snapped at me and was like, 'Parvati, stop being so selfish!' And I was_ really_ confused, because I am not selfish at all and normally, Lav is so nice and she never yells at anyone, but like I said, she's been really sad lately, so I decided to give her space and I totally forgave her."

Hermione nodded, resisting the urge to scream at her roommate to get to the damn point.

"But then, this morning, I was woken up by something and I look over and Lav's crying her eyes out. Me, being the amazing friend that I am, went over, hugged her, and asked her what was wrong. And do you know what she did?"

Hermione shook her head.

"She went completely bonkers! She started throwing things and cursing me—not cursing like hexes and stuff, but like, 'you're a giant tart, Parvati!' and stuff like that—and I was like, 'Great Merlin! Lav, I'm just trying to be a good friend and help,' and then she was like, 'I don't care! I don't need you! You're a terrible friend and you always will be! Go away!' And she wouldn't stop crying the entire time. After she threw a crystal ball at my head, I decided it was best to get away until she calmed down. Thank Merlin I don't normally wear make up, right? I wouldn't have had enough time to get ready, what with my best friend go psycho and all, but my skin's flawless. I use this special WonderWitch moisturizer and it makes my skin so nice and soft. I could totally lend you some, if you want." Parvati smiled warmly.

After a long pause during which Hermione's mind wondered which part of that rant she should respond to first, she said, "Um, I really like the moisturizer I already use, but thank you." There was another period of silence. "So, do you know why Lavender's been so sad?"

"No. On the train, she was so happy and excited and we talked and painted each other's nails." To emphasize, she stuck her hand out, showing off bright yellow nails that clashed with her coffee skin tone. "But Monday night, she was really depressed and she ate an entire box of chocolates. I know that doesn't sound too bad, but Lav told me they're imported from some remote wizarding village in the Swiss Alps and they cost her six galleons a piece. She wouldn't eat almost two hundred galleons worth of imported chocolate unless something was really wrong. Oh, Hermione, I'm so worried! What if something's really wrong with Lav? She refuses to talk to me about it! Who's going to paint my nails? Who am I going to talk to about boys? Who's going to go shopping with me at Hogsmeade?"

"Um." Hermione glanced around awkwardly, desperately searching for someone to save her from this conversation, but it was still too early and the Great Hall only had a dozen or so students. She looked at the sad girl in front of her who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Even though she was a female and had hormones and feelings and such, she really did not want to be forced to comfort a crying Parvati Patil. "Hey, how about I talk to Lavender for you? I won't mention you, but I'll ask her how she is and see if I can get her to spill. Does that sound like a good idea?"

Instantly, the tears welling in her eyes dried and her grinned. "Oh, thank you, Hermione! It would mean the world to me! Thank you so much!"

After a hug made more uncomfortable because they were sitting on different sides of the table, the two sat there in silence, each drinking their tea, until Harry and Neville arrived. Harry shot Hermione a look that said very plainly, _What's she doing here?_ In return, Hermione's face read, _I'll tell you later_.

After breakfast, Hermione and Harry made their way down to Herbology as she explained what had happened between Parvati and Lavender, though in only six sentences as opposed to the former's endless chatter.

"Wow. I never thought Lavender would throw a fit like that. What'd you suppose is wrong with her?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. She's been my roommate for six years, but I've only ever talked to her a handful of times and most of our conversations have actually been arguments about Crookshanks. He's my cat. He has every right to sleep in our room. He stays on my bed and doesn't bother anyone else; I don't see the big deal."

Harry chuckled. "But I hope she's not having a nervous breakdown or something."

"Yeah, she's crazy enough already. We don't need a mental Lavender running around Hogwarts, screaming at everyone that their sweaters don't match their shoes."

* * *

**A/N**: Just setting things up. Next chapter is **all** Dramione.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Okay, so I rewrote this chapter nine times and it's still kind of terrible, but I have no idea how to make it better. So, enjoy.

* * *

It was four o'clock. She was waiting. He wasn't there.

It was four-fifteen. She was still waiting. He still wasn't there.

It was four-thirty. She was extremely annoyed. He was going to get slapped again.

Hermione crossed her arms and examined the hallway outside the library for the forty-third time. Throughout the day she had wondered if Malfoy would actually show up. _I guess the answer's clear now_, she thought bitterly. Cursing him under her breath, she pushed the tall oak doors of the library open and shuffled past the aisles, ignoring the few other students there. _Even if he doesn't care about the competition, I do. I guess I'll just have to do the essay by myself. I'll probably have to create the potion by myself too. Why couldn't I have been paired with someone else? Anyone else would've been a whole lot better than Malfoy. I should've known he wasn't going to show. He's probably in the dungeons snogging Pansy Parkinson or bullying some little first years._

She slipped into the small alcove she'd claimed as hers during her first year. It was in the very back of the library, hidden in a corner behind the Alchemy Section. Two overstuffed armchairs and a dark purple loveseat surrounded a large cherry wood table and an oriental rug hid the stone floor; a nearby arched window let in some late afternoon sun that bathed the small area in a glittering light. Hermione sighed, content to find it unoccupied, and dropped her bag onto one of the chairs before turning around and making her way up and down the aisles, collecting a couple of unread books that she thought might be useful. She returned to the alcove, placing the books next to her bag. She was about to crack open one of them when she remembered _the Complete Encyclopedia of Spells, Potions, and Everything In Between, Edition 219_, which she had momentarily forgotten about as her mind cluttered with thoughts of what she would say to Malfoy about his lack of participation the next day.

Remembering where she'd found the encyclopedia that morning, she walked to the opposite side of the library, where all the reference texts resided.

She froze.

Malfoy.

His back was to her, but she would've been able to pick out his white-blond hair and expensive robes anywhere. He was leaning against a bookshelf, talking to a giggling girl with honey-blonde hair. Realization dawned on Hermione. _He wasn't ditching me. He's been in the library this entire time—he probably got here before me. _Part of her felt slightly guilty that she had assumed the worst, but the other part of her brain countered, _Yes, but he wasn't even looking for you. He probably wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Blondie. He's a bloody arse. We have a project that we agreed to work on today and he's completely forgotten you to go flirt with some girl.  
_

Determined and a little offended, she stood up straight and promptly stormed past them, stomping her feet to make sure she got his attention. She yanked the encyclopedia from its spot, forgetting momentarily that it was practically eight stones, but was quickly reminded when it pulled her arm and the rest of her body down with it as it fell. Stumbling to regain her balance, heat flooded her cheeks, but she kept calm. Recollecting herself, she decided it was best to drag it after her. Doing so, she shot Malfoy a death glare. In response, he gave her an amused smirk as he watched her pull a book that weighed almost the same as her. Scowling, she towed it behind her as she made her way back to her alcove, irritation seeping into her bones.

Despite the book's weight, she managed to slide it onto the table with a bit of anger-fueled strength. Sitting on the loveseat, she flipped the tome open as she pulled out a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and her favorite quill. She was in the middle of skimming the twenty-fourth page, her annoyance finally ebbing away, when she heard footsteps. They were light, almost nonexistent, like the person was gliding across the stone floor instead of walking.

"There you are, Granger."

She ignored him.

"I've never seen this little nook before. Figures a bookworm like you would have this…literary sanctuary that no one knows about." Silence. "Granger, I'm talking to you."

No response.

He gracefully fell next to her on the loveseat and glanced at the giant encyclopedia. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

She turned the page, searching for those three words. Suddenly, the tome moved and Malfoy, with unnatural ease, pulled it to his lap, his cold and calculating grey eyes analyzing the page. His lip curled in disgust.

"Why are you reading this, Granger? And people call you clever? We're supposed to be looking for the Elixir of Aitminh."

She glared and, with a great amount of effort now that her temporary strength was gone, pulled the book away from him and pushed it back onto the table. "We are. At least, _I_ am."

"You say that like I'm not helping."

"You're not."

"Is that so?" He leaned back and draped his long arm across the back of the loveseat in a casual manner, crossing his legs so that his ankle rested on his knee.

"Quite," she replied, scooting to the edge of her seat so she was the furthest she could be from him. "I've spent every free minute since Monday trying to find out about the Elixir and you've been flirting."

He smirked. "Granger, that's sad. I always knew you were obsessed with school, but every free minute? No wonder the Weasel dumped you."

Hermione glowered. "Ron didn't dump me."

"So you're unavailable? That's too bad. I heard Filch talking about how he'd love to talk you to the Yule Ball."

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "You're lucky we're in the library or I'd hex you."

He chuckled. "Yes, the library's far too sanctimonious a place to curse your arch-enemy."

Ignoring his comment, she went back to her tome. While she wanted his help, she could do without his snarky comments.

After a few minutes, he rolled his eyes and sat up. "What are you doing?"

"I thought it was perfectly clear, Ferret—I'm trying to find information about the Elixir of Aitminh so we can get to the second stage of the competition. Now, make yourself useful for once and see if any of those books mention something about it." She motioned at the small pile of books she'd collected before.

He glanced lazily at them and curled his lip, leaning back again. "Those aren't going to help you and neither is this literary atrocity," he drawled, motioning towards the encyclopedia.

"Oh, really? And how, pray tell, would you know that?"

He gave her a smug look, like he knew something she didn't. "Let me ask you something Granger: have any of the books you've read so far helped at all?"

Slightly embarrassed, she shook her head. She was practically famous around Hogwarts for her researching ability, yet she couldn't find information about one single potion.

With a victorious smirk, he asked, "And what books have you read?"

"Um, _Extraordinary Potion-Making_ by Arsenius Jigger, _Ancient Elixirs and Primeval Potions_ by Vindictus Viridian, _Advanced Theories on Advanced Draughts_ by Regulus Moonshine, _An Extended History of Potions_ by Glover Hipworth—"

"Alright," he said, holding up a hand to quiet her. "What do all of those books have in common?"

"They don't mention anything about the Elixir."

He shook his head and gave her a patronizing look, like she was an idiot. "That's not what I meant."

She was silent for a long time, thinking. She really did not like it when people seemed to know more than she did. "Um…I—I don't know," she mumbled, her cheeks warming.

"You don't the answer to a question? Really? That's a first for the Know-It-All Mudblood," he remarked snidely, donning an oh-so-superior sneer. "The answer, Mudblood, is that none of those books are this book." With a sudden movement, he pulled a warn, leather-bound book out of his dragonhide satchel. It was small and thick, weathered, and very old with a tattered spine that was barely holding the yellowed, torn pages together. The cover was probably once exquisite but now it was faded, and the intricate, strange gold markings were barely visible.

"What's that?" she asked dumbly.

"_Leabhar na Leachtanna Draiochta_," he said, managing to elegantly stumble over the correct pronunciation.

"Right." She paused, looking at him inquisitively. "And?"

He let out an exasperated and rolled his eyes, as if the answer was obvious. "_And_, Granger, as you _should_ know but clearly don't, this is one of only six books in the entire world that contains the extensive works of Brigit, an Irish druidess who lived a few thousand years ago and who is considered one of the most successful potioneers of all time."

A wave of understanding washed over Hermione. "Oh." A hundred questions flooded her mind. "Where did you get it?"

"The library."

"Here? That's not possible. I've explored this entire library—except for the Restricted Section, of course—and I've never seen…did you steal that from the Restricted Section?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"I am not a liar."

"That sounds like something a liar would say."

"I am not lying. I didn't get it from the Hogwarts Library, anyways. I got it from the Malfoy Manor Library. Merlin knows this place has the most pathetic collection of books I've ever seen," he said, looking around disdainfully.

_Is he serious? He thinks the Hogwarts Library is pathetic? His library at home must be huge. It's such a shame that good fortune is wasted on bad people._

Ignoring her growing curiosity about the vast selection of books at Malfoy's house, she said, "When did you get it? And why didn't you tell me about it?"

"I sent an owl to my mother on Monday and asked her if she knew anything about the Elixir. You know, she's rather talented when it comes to potions. I didn't expect her to know anything about it, but then this came in the morning." He waved the book. "I was rather surprised, honestly, but then again, we _are_ Malfoys. And I didn't tell you about it because I'd like to converse with you the least amount possible. Even talking to you for this long has given me a headache."

"Oh. Okay." Hermione chose to overlook his snarky comments. "Why does your family have it?."

He gave her a haughty sneer. "Because Malfoys are rich and we like to collect rare and priceless artifacts."

"Oh. Okay," she repeated. "Can I see it then?"

He gave her a look that made it clear he didn't think she was worthy to touch such a valuable item, but he handed it to her anyways. Delicately, she opened it and thumbed through a few pages before looking back up at him. "Is this entire thing in Gaelic?"

"Yes. It was written a few thousand years ago, a long time before the Universal Language Literary Wizarding Decrees of 1891," he explained, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Oh. Do you speak Gaelic?" she wondered.

"No. I speak nine languages, but Gaelic is not one of them. I was hoping you did," he said, before muttering under his breath, "Although I doubt you're intelligent enough to learn an entirely different language."

Hermione pursed her lips at his snub, but didn't humor him with a retort. "No, I can't speak it," she said crossly, giving him a disapproving glare.

The two were silent for a minute, thinking of solutions for this new problem.

"Can your mum or dad speak it?"

"No. What about that Irish bloke in our year? What's his name? Edward or Alex or something like that?"

"Seamus?" she said, dumbfound that he really didn't know the name of a boy he'd gone to school with for six years. "Um, I think he speaks a bit of Gaelic, but he's in the competition too. We'd be sharing all our information with him and Dean."

Malfoy shrugged. "We could just Obliviate him afterwards."

Hermione stared at him, appalled. "No, we are not going to do _that_. We would risk serious brain damage to him."

"Come on, Granger," he said, clearly irritated. "As much as it pains me to admit it, you're a rather okay witch and I'm one of the best in our year. Surely we can execute a proper Memory Charm."

"No."

He shot her an annoyed scowl. "Your Gryffindor-esque 'honor' and 'integrity' are really making this whole 'finding a solution' thing difficult."

"At least I have honor and integrity."

"At least I have clean blood."

"At least I've got friends."

"I've got friends."

"Who? Crabbe and Goyle? Pfft. They're more like paid bodyguards."

"Don't pretend that you don't pay Potter and Weasley off in your own _special_ way, Mudblood."

Hermione gaped at him, her eyes wide in shock, speechless. _What a crass git_. Fury pulsed through her veins and her "dirty" blood boiled. Suddenly, Malfoy was cupping his own cheek where a growing red palm-shaped mark was growing. She stood up and glared at him, her eyes cold and deadly and her face unreadable. "I'm going to go to my Common Room and work on this essay by myself," she spat acerbically.

He looked at her, his face a blank mask. This made her even more furious. He didn't even have the courtesy to look shameful_—_not that anyone sane would ever expected Malfoy to be sorry about anything.

Grabbing her bag and the book, she stomped away, feeling tears pool in her eyes. _Why is he so cruel? I've never done anything to him and he…he just—he's just an arsehole! _She was halfway to the library door when Malfoy materialized out of nowhere, blocking her way with his signature smirk plastered on his pale, pointed face and cold, taunting mercury eyes.

In one swift movement, she had her wand against his throat. He swallowed visibly and the bit of fear clear on his face gave Hermione a twisted sense of satisfaction. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and her mouth curled into a sickly sweet smile.

"Hello," she said, her tone unnaturally pleasant, digging her wand further against his skin. "Can I help you with something? Perhaps you want to insult me again. And again. And again. Over and over and over and over. You're welcome to. Please share your thoughts about my blood and my friends."

He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the stern voice of Madam Pince snapping, "No magic in the library! Miss Granger, please put your wand away or I'll be forced to escort you out."

Against her will, Hermione grudgingly slid her wand back into the pockets of her robes. Smiling coldly, she said, "Goodbye, Malfoy. Have a nice night." She attempted to shove past him, but he didn't budge and instead grabbed her wrist with a tight grip.

Enraged, she brought her other hand up to slap him for the second time that day, but he caught her other wrist too.

"Granger, we need to work together on this. We're _partners_," he explained patronizingly, as if he were talking to a child.

"I'm well aware of that," she snarled, her eyes ablaze with anger and annoyance.

"So, go back to your little nook now and we'll work."

She scoffed. Hermione Granger was a proud person and she wasn't going to do anything with the Amazing Bouncing Ferret until he apologized, got down on his knees and pleaded. It was extremely unrealistic; she knew that, but it was still pleasing to imagine Draco Malfoy on the floor, begging for a Mudblood's forgiveness. "No thank you. Either I'm doing it all alone or you're doing it all alone. I'm not working with a self-righteous prat like you."

"Fine. Give me the book. I'll do the essay by myself."

"No! I don't trust you."

"And I don't trust you."

"That's too bad."

"You really are daft if you think I'm going to leave you to do the essay. We're doing it together." He began to drag her back to the alcove, but she dug her heels into the floor to slow them down.

"No thank you," she sneered, tugging on both of her arms to free herself with no successful results. "I'd rather not be forced to listen to you continually insult my parents, my friends, and me."

He glanced back at her, an amused smirk on his face that pissed her off even more. "Really, Granger, you should've expected to be insulted nonstop the moment you were paired with me. Don't be so sensitive." He let go of one of her arms, but tensed his grip on the other one so it was bone-crushingly tight.

"Oh, I apologize for having feelings. It must be something you pure-yet-cold-blooded Slytherins have never experienced." She tried to pull her arm away from him, but he didn't let go.

"We are working on this together. No more questions." His voice was authoritative and made it clear that the subject was closed, but she wasn't one of his mindless lackeys who would bend to his will.

She finally jerked her wrist from his uncomfortably grasp and glowered at him. "You can't make me do anything, Malfoy," she growled defiantly. When he tried to reach for her wrist again, she backed up.

Not taking no for an answer, he grabbed her bag off of her shoulders and snatched the book out of her hands, quickly walking back to the alcove with Hermione on his heels.

"Malfoy, give me my things back now!"

"No."

"Malfoy, you're acting rather childish."

"You are too."

"Only because you insulted me."

"Again, Mudblood, it's not really that much of a shocker."

"You're not even trying to be a decent person."

"Why should I?"

The two reached the alcove and Draco plopped down onto the loveseat, hiding her bag and the book behind his body, leering at her smugly.

"Because!" she shrieked, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Because why?" he prodded.

"Because it would make this whole situation a whole lot easier, Malfoy. In case you haven't realized it yet, I don't want to be here either. I don't want to be _your_ partner. I don't want to work with _you_. I don't want to have to deal with your cruel words or your nice little 'nicknames' for me."

Silence surrounded them as he watched her, his eyes cold and judgmental, making her want to squirm with uneasiness.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine." He let out a pained sigh and moved his gaze to the bookshelf behind her. "I'll stop insulting you, but only when we're working on the essay. During class and in the hallways, your blood and your sorry excuses for friends are still fair game. Do you accept my humble offer?"

Hermione tilted her head, thinking. She knew what Harry and Ron would say if they were in this situation: _don't trust him, he's a sneaky Slytherin and there's no way anything he says is sincere; he's probably just trying to manipulate you so he can humiliate you_. But she couldn't think of a single way he could manipulate the situation. Looking at him, despite his aloof, egotistical, and conceited aura, he seemed rather genuine about wanting to work together and winning the competition.

Hesitantly, Hermione nodded. She would still be on guard, but as much as she hated to admit it, she would need help with this ludicrous assignment and Malfoy would be somewhat useful. "Fine. And I suppose I'll do the same with you," she said, sealing an unofficial truce of sorts. "Give me my bag."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"It's mine and I really don't want my personal belongings in your slimy hands, thank you very much," she sneered.

He conceded and tossed her the bag back. She set it back down on one of the chairs and stood there for a minute, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. "Um, so I suppose we should try to find a way to translate the book then."

He nodded absently. "We could always try Translation Charms. They're a better option than Mind Charms."

Hermione scolded herself for not thinking of Translation Charms before. "Right. So, I'll go look for some books on that."

"Um, I guess I can..._help_ you then."

She smirked at the way he choked out the word "help."

* * *

Every now and then, Draco would chance a glance at his Potions project partner. She, on the other hand, didn't pay him any attention, which was strange. Girls always paid him attention, giggling and waving coyly at him. He was a Malfoy, a pureblood, the Slytherin Prince, and he was extremely attractive.

But she never looked his way. She just stayed focus on the task at hand. She would pull out book after book, skimming them and then delicately sliding them back into place, like if she did it too roughly she'd hurt their feelings. He smirked at the thought, shoving a book that held no answers into its spot, before browsing the selections again. _Special Charms for Special Occasions_ by Iris Asherbough caught his attention. Flipping through it, he realized it was all about planning parties, with chapters on how to get vegetables to sing and enchanting the ceiling so it would change appearance.

He looked back at Granger.

Her honey brown hair was a cloud of curls that made her seem much smaller than she actually was. Strands of hair kept falling into her face and she would repeatedly tuck them behind her ear; only seconds later, the hair would reappear. Her wide chocolate-colored eyes were narrowed in focus as she ran her slender fingers along the spines of books, trying to decide which one to choose next. The aura of determination and confidence that always surrounded her seemed to have been increased tenfold in the presence of tomes and textbooks. It was rather an interesting sight for Draco.

It wasn't that she was attractive. Sure, the baby-fat she'd had during their earlier years at Hogwarts had melted away to reveal a kind, heart-shaped face, striking cheekbones, and plump lips. Sure, she was slender with curves in all the right places. Sure, she was a windstorm of passion and life. But he didn't really notice her beauty. To him, she was just _interesting_—something to watch and judge, something to never like or touch.

He wasn't sure why he decided to suggest a truce with her. He told himself that it was so that they would argue less and so they'd be able to get more done in less time and he'd be able to spend the least amount of time possible with her. But another part of him reminded him that he'd only thought of the truce after seeing tears well in her eyes. But Draco would never admit to anyone that the only reason he'd agreed to it was because he was tired of hurting her feelings. In public, he keep up pretenses, but every time he saw her flinch or recognized the flash of hurt in her eyes, he felt guilt build. Not a lot, just little miniscule bits that would attach to each other. And after so many years, the guilt was just too much. But Draco would never admit that to anyone, that he felt bad for hurting the feelings of Mudblood. He wouldn't even admit it to himself.

She bit her bottom lip as she pulled out a rather large book with a blue velvet cover, bound by a thick wraparound silver cord. Undoing the string, she slowly opened it.

Bored with an hour of dull silence, he quietly slinked down the aisle until he was standing right behind her, his chest only an inch from touching her back. Peering over her shoulder, he noticed that she smelled faintly of vanilla, honey, and something else a bit more flowery. Trying not to pay attention to the interesting scent, he whispered into her ear, "What's that?"

She shrieked and threw the book into the air, twirling around and instinctively kicking him in the shin. Before he could even think about laughing at her reaction, he fell to the ground, hugging his leg, which was throbbing in pain. For a tiny girl the size of a faerie, she sure kicked hard. Taking a few deep breaths and quickly regaining his composure, he stood up, ignoring the slowly-dulling pain, to face a seething Granger. Her eyes were fiery and glowing with anger. She shoved his shoulder with a surprising amount of strength, forcing him to lose his balance and stumble a bit.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" she screeched.

He adopted his most innocent look. "What? I was just trying to see what you were reading and you bloody freaking attacked me!"

"You scared me!" she said defensively. "Don't sneak up on me, ever again. You're lucky I didn't have my wand with me or you'd be covered in pus and boils."

He smirked. "Thank Merlin for that. You'd probably be chased out of the school by my hundreds of avid admirers for ruining my incredible good looks."

"I'm sure they'd be fine with it, since you'd still have your appealing personality," she retorted. She picked up the velvet book off the flower and huffily walked off, leaving Draco alone in the middle of the Charms Section, Authors A-L.

_Well, isn't she an overdramatic one,_ he thought to himself as he sauntered back to the alcove. Quickly glancing around, he realized that Granger was nowhere to be seen, though her bag was still there. Feeling slightly offended at being abandoned by a Mudblood, he fell onto the loveseat and propped his feet up on the table. He pulled his wand out of his trousers' pocket and began absentmindedly levitating one of the armchairs a few inches off the ground. A few minutes later, just as he was starting to get annoyed, she walked out from behind one of the bookshelves with the Leabhar na Leachtanna Draiochta book in her hands and a smug look on her face.

"Where did you run off to?" he asked in a bored tone, pulling his wand away so the chair fell back to the ground with a solid _thump_.

She smiled. "I went out into the hallway and put a spell on the book to translate it," she explained, tossing the book into his lap. "Um…but it's in French."

Draco raised an eyebrow and flipped through the book, seeing that she was right.

"You speak French fluently, don't you?" she asked hesitantly, fidgeting with the hem of her robe's sleeve. "I mean, I assumed you do. I heard that…I mean, I was talking to…um, so do you?"

He stared at her for a second. Her cheeks had flushed a dark red color and she was biting her lower lip again. _What in Merlin's name is wrong with her?_ "Um, yes."

"Oh, good," she sighed, relieved. "I wanted to translate it to English, but for some reason, this bloody library—in the middle of Scotland for Merlin's sake!—doesn't have a single spellbook on changing Gaelic to English. Gaelic to Latin, yes. Gaelic to Portuguese, nine books. Gaelic to bloody Slovakian, an entire shelf. But not a single one on Gaelic to English. It's rather idiotic, if you ask me." She ran her fingers through her thick hair and gave him a small smile.

"Couldn't you have translated it from French to English?" he inquired.

Her face fell. "Oh. I suppose I didn't think of that."

"It's fine," he said. His words were reassuring, but his tone was neutral. "I'm fluent in French. Don't worry."

He felt odd being civil towards her, but it wasn't a bad feeling. It was just new. _It's just because of the truce and the competition. Don't forget that she's a pesky know-it-all Gryffindor Mudblood who worships Potter and thinks the Weasel is good company_, he reminded himself.

She looked unsure, but nodded. "Um, so I was thinking that you could read it and I'd take some notes. Then we could split the list of ingredients in have and individually research their properties and on Saturday we could actually start to write the essay, if you don't have any plans. Do you have plans because we could do it another day?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, good," she repeated. "So, does that sound good?"

He opened his mouth in protest, but closed it when he realized that he had nothing to protest. It wasn't a bad idea. In fact, it sounded like it could be his idea. He agreed and opened the book. She kneeled on the ground and sat in front of the coffee table, dipping her quill in ink and poising it over the parchment, waiting for him to say something noteworthy.

* * *

Hermione felt uncomfortable, like a fish out water. She couldn't stop fidgeting with everything, from her hem to her hair. She was sweating a little and biting her lip so hard she could taste her own blood.

She didn't know what to do.

The entire situation just seemed so awkward. Sitting here was awkward. Working with Draco Malfoy was awkward. Being within a five foot radius of him and not being insulted was awkward. Not that she wanted him to make fun of her. It was just strange to, for once, not be trying to come up with a witty comeback that would put him in his place. But, despite his lack of nastiness, she was still on guard. Every few seconds, she would look up at him to make she that he wasn't about to hex her, but each time she glanced over, he was doing the exact same thing he had been doing for the past ten minutes.

With nothing to do herself, she couldn't help but pause and watch him.

His white-blond hair was slicked back, making his angular, aristocratic features even more prominent. His skin was so pale, like he'd never stepped foot outside, practically the color of milk. His stone grey eyes were determined and serious, reading the words of the book with a certain quiet fierceness. Hermione knew that if he looked at her with those eyes, she would truly be scared—not that she'd show it, because she was a brave Gryffindor after all, but she would intimidated nonetheless.

Suddenly, he looked up from the book and met gaze.

He smirked. "Like what you see, Granger?"

Refusing to be flustered and ignoring her hot (and most likely, cherry red) cheeks, she smiled. "No. Ferrets aren't really my type," she taunted playfully. "Have you found anything yet?"

He shook his head. "No. It looks like the first fifty pages of the bloody thing are all about Brigit's personal life and how she helped people after she married the Muggle King of Gael—you know, before they found out she was a witch and burned her and her cat alive," he explained casually before turning his attention back to the book.

"Oh. That's sad" was all she could think to say.

He let out a low chuckle.

She turned away, her skin still flushed because her sworn enemy had just caught her staring at him. It wasn't like she was admiring the view or anything, because she definitely was not. If anything, she was surveying the main antagonist of her life, making sure that he wasn't doing anything too Slytherin. Sure, to the all the other girls he might've been rather attractive. Hermione knew about his reputation with other girls, but she didn't really care. It's not like she would ever be interested in a sadistic egomaniac like him and even if she was, he would never touch a bushy-haired Muggle-born like her. But...she would admit, it was rather interesting to watch him. He was like a piece of art—something nice to look at but something you would and could never touch.

"Oh, hey, I was looking for you."

Hermione looked up to see the same giggling girl Malfoy had been flirting with earlier, standing behind the loveseat, looking only at the blond boy. Up close, Hermione recognized her as a fifth year Hufflepuff prefect. Inspecting the girl, she could see that she wasn't exactly beautiful, but she was pretty. She had long, pin straight honey-blonde hair and heavy bangs that brushed her lashes, large hazel eyes, and a splatter of freckles across her button nose. She had forgone her robes and the yellow-and-black striped tie around her neck was loose.

The girl smiled sweetly at Malfoy and leaned over the back of the loveseat so that her face was just a few inches from his. "Hi, Draco," she purred, batting her lashes. "What are you doing?"

"Hi, Lilian," he purred right back. "I'm working on an essay for Potions."

"Oh," she murmured lowly, slowly moving her face closer to his and closing her eyes.

For the sake of both her stomach and her precious, innocent mind, Hermione loudly cleared her throat.

"Oh, Hermione, hi!" Lilian greeted cheerfully, standing up straight. "I didn't see you there."

"Clearly," she muttered, before saying in a much clearer, louder voice, "Hello, Lilian. Can we help you with something?" Hermione didn't mean for her words to sound so unfriendly and distant, but that's how it came out. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her tone, but didn't say attention. The Hufflepuff didn't seem to notice though.

Lilian turned to Malfoy with emotion-filled wide eyes that made it clear that the girl was a simpering dolt who had a massive crush on the Prince of Slytherin. Hermione was resisting the urge to roll her eyes and say something snarky about the girl's poor taste in boys when Lilian spoke. "I was thinking about how the first trip to Hogsmeade is coming up and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me, Draco."

Malfoy gave her an uninterested glance and kept his expression completely blank, just regarding the girl with bored eyes. After an uncomfortably long silence during which poor Lilian started to lose her confidence and fidget with her tie, he said in a monotone voice, "I suppose. What do you want to do?"

Her face broke out in a toothy grin. "Oh, well, I was thinking that we could just walk around for a bit and then go to Madam Puddifoot's for tea and lunch."

Hermione had to stifle a loud snort at the thought of Malfoy, the epitome of an ego-sensitive masculine wizard, sitting in a teashop filled with pink, lace, and frills.

But he remained apathetic, just looking around with vacant eyes, as if this was the most boring conversation he had ever had and as if he wasn't being asked out by a very cute and sweet Hufflepuff. "I'll see you then," he agreed, his voice distant.

Lilian seemed very pleased with his answer. "Great. Well, I guess I'll leave you two to your essay. It's almost dinner time anyways. And don't forget about the prefects meeting on Friday, right? Okay, bye," she said. She paused to smile flirtatiously at him before sauntering off, her hips sway a bit too much for it to be natural, but Malfoy wasn't paying any attention and had gone back to reading the book.

"You seem to be really over the moon for her," Hermione mused sarcastically a few minutes later.

He looked up. "What?"

"As a third party observer, it just seemed to me that you really like her. I could tell by the way your eyes lit up when she asked you out."

He rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha."

She propped her elbow onto the table and rested her head on her open hand. "So, tell me, what would your pureblood Slytherin friends think if they found out you were practically in love with a half-blood Hufflepuff?"

He shot her a dirty look. "It's really none of your business now, is it, Granger?"

She shrugged. "I suppose not." She checked her watch. "But Lilian was right; it's dinner time. We can meet up after to finish," she offered, standing up.

"Yeah, I am a bit hungry."

The two stood up to together and looked at each other awkwardly before grabbing their bags and the book and walking together to the Great Hall in an uncomfortable silence.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione glanced behind her and noticed that Malfoy had slowed down and was now a good seven meters behind her, sauntering down the corridor at a cocky, languid pace. _He probably doesn't want to be seen walking in with a Mudblood, _she thought with an eye roll, _unless he's emotionally and mentally torturing me._

Picking up her pace, she slipped into the Great Hall unnoticed and found her seat, next to Harry and across from Ginny and Neville.

"Hi, everyone," she greeted, grabbing a buttered roll.

"Hey," the three Gryffindors chorused in response.

"Where've you been?" Harry asked, taking a sip from his goblet.

"The library," she answered, ladling some onion soup into her bowl. "I was working on my essay for Potions with Malfoy."

His nose wrinkled in distaste. "I still feel terrible that you've been paired with him."

She shrugged. "It's a terrible fate, but I've accepted it," she said lightly.

"So, have you found anything yet?"

She raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. "If I did, I wouldn't tell you, Harry James Potter," she said, her tone slightly scolding. "It's a competition, after all."

"I was just asking," he grumbled.

The conversation soon turned to Quidditch. Finding that she had nothing to add to the chatter, she listened dutifully, as they did when she went on and on about new books she'd just read. She barely even remembered that someone was missing from their usual talks until she happened to glance to her right. He'd been watching her for a few minutes, but she had been ignoring the raised hairs on the back of her neck. For a moment, her chocolate eyes found his ocean-blue ones, but his freckled face quickly twisted into a cold sneer and he looked away. Scowling, Hermione turned back to her soup.

It appeared that Ron Weasley wasn't in a hurry to apologize. That was fine with her. She wasn't in a hurry to forgive.

Ron seemed to have a plan to avoid conflict that he had already put into action. He'd sit with Seamus and Dean. He'd eat with Seamus and Dean. He'd hang out with Seamus and Dean. He'd do homework with Seamus and Dean. He'd talk about Quidditch and girls with Seamus and Dean. He'd avoid Harry and Hermione with Seamus and Dean. It really was ridiculous and she didn't understand why he couldn't just say he was sorry. _All he has to say is "I am sorry." Three measly little words and we'd be friends again. What is it with boys and their sensitive egos? Honestly. _

Harry's hand settled on her shoulder in a reassuring manner. "Are you okay?"

Realizing that her friends had been watching the short ordeal, she smiled at them. "I'm fine. It's just…you know, he's been my best friend for the past five years and it's strange to be in a fight with him for this long. Part of me misses him, but another part of me wants to hex him silly for being such a git."

Harry nodded understandingly. "I miss him too, but he was wrong and he needs to apologize."

"I know," she said glumly, twirling her soup spoon. "You know, if you want, you can go and sit with him. I wouldn't blame you. He's your best friend and he didn't do anything to you."

He gave her a strange, slightly disbelieving look. "No, I'd never leave you, Hermione. You're both my best friends, but Ron needs to see that he's the wrong one in this situation."

Hermione smiled, her heart warmed slightly by her friend's loyalty.

"Plus," Ginny added, "he's a total wanker."

"Trust me, Gin, I am well aware of that fact," she said, laughing.

The rest of dinner went slowly. Occasionally, Hermione would glance over at the Slytherin table to see if it was time to leave the Great Hall and return to the library, but Malfoy seemed to be taking his time and was talking to Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Normally, she would've been vexed by his inconsiderateness, but she found that she really wasn't in a hurry to spend more time with him and she was enjoying the pleasant conversation she was sharing with her fellow Gryffindors. Hermione was just digging into her treacle tart when somebody behind her cleared their throat. Turning around, she saw the lanky figure of a certain redhead.

Adopting her coldest glare, she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms defensively. Without even looking, she could tell that her three friends, not to mention half of the Great Hall, were watching the scene in front of them—the awaited standoff between the two best friends of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, after rumors furiously circulated around the student body the very first day of school. Hearing most of them for herself, she was surprised to find that most of them weren't very far off from the actual truth (aside from the ones that said it was a "lovers' quarrel," because it most certainly was not). One thing she was sure about though was that most people had unofficially sided with her.

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but she remained silent. She got a sense of strange satisfaction to see him stand there uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other.

He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair and gave her an awkward smile. "Hey."

When she didn't respond, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers and cleared his throat again. "Um, how are you?" he tried, giving her a desperate "work with me, please" look that irked her even more.

She narrowed her eyes dangerously at him, but he didn't seem to get the message and took the empty seat next to her without question. Hardening her glare, both because her irritation was growing and because he didn't seem to be getting her message, she sneered. "What are you doing, Ronald?"

He frowned at her, as if her unfriendliness was unwarranted. "I wanted to talk to you, Hermy," he said earnestly.

She scoffed. "I'm sorry, but I'm not available to check your Charms homework. Ask someone else," she said primly.

His brows furrowed. "No, Herms, I wanted to talk to you about…well, us."

"Us?"

"Yeah. Us. I want us to be friends again," he said expectantly.

"Pardon?"

He gave her a sweet smile, as if it was adorable when she was confused. "Let's be friends again."

Hermione stared at him incredulously. Was he serious? Did he honestly think it would be okay to just demand her friendship? There wasn't even an apology anywhere in there.

"Ron, what exactly do you think you're doing?" Ginny's voice said suddenly.

"I'm talking to my friend, Gin. Mind your own business, why don't you?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were _asking _her to be your friend again," the redheaded girl said brusquely. "At least, that's what you should be doing."

"We've been best friends for six years. I don't need to ask."

"No, but you do need to apologize for what you said," she snarled. "And I don't hear an apology."

Hermione smiled inwardly, happy to have a good friend like Ginny and reminded herself to thank her later.

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have heard anything because you should've been minding your own business," he said coldly.

"Excuse me, Ronald, but I didn't hear an apology, either," Hermione said primly. Ginny snorted in agreement, though both Harry and Neville remained suspiciously silent, siding with no one. "I think you should leave and only come back when you're ready to say you're sorry for being such a conceited tosser."

He stood up suddenly, an angry expression on his face. "What?" he demanded, his voice loud and fury-infused. His eyes bulged slightly and his cheeks turned red, clashing with his orange hair.

If people weren't watching before, they definitely were now. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see all the heads at the Slytherin table turn towards the Gryffindors and some gossipy Hufflepuff girls were huddled together, whispering conspiratorially and pointing at her and Ron, while the Ravenclaws simply watched in fascination. Standing up, Hermione glared daggers at him.

"I think you heard me," she growled, poking his chest at every other word. "You have a lot of nerve, Ronald Weasley, if you think that you can just _demand_ my friendship. You insulted me and you hurt my feelings. You can't just do whatever you want and you can't just think that because you want something, you can get it! Don't you understand that?"

He stared at her for a long time with a shocked expression, blinking rapidly as if he wasn't sure what he had just heard before adopting a sorrowful expression and wide, hurt eyes. He sat back down and ran his fingers through his hair anxiously before looking back up at her. "You're right. I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said, grabbing her small hands in his large ones. "I can't take back what I said, but if I could, I would. I never meant to hurt your feelings—I was just angry and upset that day and I took it out on the wrong person. Could you please find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Hermione's heart melted at his kind, seemingly heartfelt words, but then she looked into his eyes and knew in an instant that he was lying. She prided herself on, aside from being incredibly clever, knowing her friends like the back of her hand. She was an extremely observant person, paying attention to everyone, taking notes of everything and cataloging specific facts in the back of her mind. They had been best friends for more than five years and spent countless hours together, occasionally getting into small verbal spars that always ended with one of them apologizing to the other. All those times before, he'd been sincere and she had known it. There had always been a certain way his words flowed, a special tinge to his eyes that made her know he was serious, a unique way he looked ashamed and genuine. But those characteristics were lacking now. His eyes were full of emotions, but not one of them was guilt. It was clear to her that he didn't even care that he had hurt her feelings. He wasn't sorry at all.

_He probably just wants Harry's friendship back, _she thought bitterly, remembering that morning when Ron had invited the raven-haired boy to join his station in Herbology. Harry had declined, of course, but it was clear that Ron was not happy that his friend was choosing Hermione's side over his (unofficially, of course). Hermione frowned and looked back at her friends, ignoring the inquisitive looks of their audience. Harry was giving her a look that was just begging her to accept. Neville just looked unsure and nervous. The only saving grace was Ginny, who was glaring daggers at her brother, seemingly as unconvinced as Hermione.

She didn't want to accept, but knew how it would look to everyone else if she didn't—she'd be seen as a cold-hearted witch who couldn't forgive a "sincere" apology from one of her best friends.

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded. "I guess I can forgive my best friend for having a bad moment," she said with a tight smile.

Immediately, she was pulled into a bear hug, lifted a few inches off the ground by the six-foot-one Weasley. She kept her hands by her side, while he affectionately rubbed his hands up and down her back. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable and after a few seconds, she pulled away, giving him another tense smile.

"Great. Thanks so much, Herms. We should hang out tonight, work on stuff together, you know?" he asked casually.

_He doesn't want Harry back. He wants help with his homework. Obviously. _Hermione pressed her lips together to refrain from screaming at him that she was not his own personal homework-checker—he never even said a simple "thank you" for the hours she had spent correcting his terrible essays. Instead of expressing her anger, she looked around the Great Hall, sending warning glares at anyone who was still staring at them, before sitting down and viciously stabbing her treacle tart with a fork.

* * *

**Friday, September 6th**

Hermione was contemplating her newly restored friendship with Ron as she made her way from the library to the prefects' Common Room. She couldn't help but feel strange about the past few days. Ron had jumped back into her life like nothing had ever happened. He willingly abandoned Seamus and Dean, both of whom really didn't seem to mind, and was back to being her and Harry's best friend. He took back his seat at the Gryffindor table, aggravating Ginny, who decided it best if she and Neville went to sit at the Ravenclaw table with Luna for a while. Hermione had desperately wanted to follow them, but she didn't. He walked to class with them and chatted away happily. He asked her for help with his homework with no reservations; it got on her nerves, but she just plastered a fake smile on her face and looked over his assignments as if she had nothing better to do.

When she conveyed her annoyance about him to Ginny, she just sneered and muttered "I still can't believe that you forgave him! He's a complete git!" before storming off, her fiery locks flying behind her.

When she conveyed her annoyance about him to Neville, he just looked at her awkwardly and said, "Oh. I'm sorry. That must really be terrible."

When she conveyed her annoyance about him to Luna, she just asked, "Do you think the Blibbering Humdingers have gotten to him? Perhaps that's why he's acting so strange. You know, the only way to cure a person of Blibbering Humdingers is werewolf saliva, so you should get on that during the next full moon."

When she conveyed her annoyance about him to Harry, he just gave her an understanding nod and said, "Well, at least he's trying. You've got to give him points for that."

It was true, she supposed; he was trying his best, but his best was completely irritating. He was acting as if nothing was wrong. _Well, I guess he shouldn't think anything is wrong since I publicly forgave him and all. But still! _

When she had returned to the Gryffindor Common Room from the library two nights before, he had smiled and waved at her like she was the sun and he had just spent thirty years in the dark. She wanted to rewind a few days, back when she could openly express her annoyance. Now she had to pretend like she wasn't constantly on the verge of a screaming rampage.

Hermione checked her watch and scolded herself for not paying closer attention to the time. She had been reading an extremely interesting book about unicorn blood, a vital ingredient in the Elixir of Aitminh, and was completely caught up in a chapter about how it had been used as a bargaining chip during the Centaur-Goblin War of 1410. Distantly, she recalled two days before, when Malfoy was translating the Gaelic-to-French book for her with ease.

_"Wait. Can you repeat that?" Hermione asked, blinking, not quite sure if she had heard his words correctly._

_He gave her an annoyed look. "I said, 'The Elixir of Persuasion makes the drinker completely susceptible to all demands or requests made of them. They cannot say no to anything for a specific period of time, which is dependent on how much of the potion is consumed. While they are aware of their self and are completely conscious, the simple idea of saying "no" is physically impossible for them. After the potion's effects have worn off, the drinker will remember everything.' Essentially, you have no free will. You're being controlled by anyone who asks you to do something."  
_

_Hermione gaped, her mind racing with the possibly evil uses of an elixir like this. "That's terrible. Why would Snape want us to make something like that? I mean, I know he's a Slytherin and by nature, they have no morals, but still."_

_He glared at her for a minute before turning his attention back to the book, clearly not bothered by their morally dubious homework._

_She frowned. "Dumbledore can't be okay with this. He wouldn't approve at all."_

_He rolled his eyes. "Then go rat out Snape. Goodbye." He waved at her mockingly._

_She didn't move and instead jotted some notes down on her parchment, ignoring the uneasy feeling building in her gut. After a minute, she looked up to find Malfoy studying her with calculating grey eyes. "Are you going to continue reading or not?"_

_He smirked smugly and started reading some things off. "It says that there's no possible antidote due to the addition of unicorn blood and knotroot. You can only wait for the effects to wear off. Just a single, tiny drop of the Elixir takes twenty-four hours to wear off. Woah. There are more than fifty side effects and half of them sound deadly," he said, his voice laced with awe and interest. "Listen to this: 'an unfortunate side effect of the potion (due to the excessive amount of knotroot required) is an unnatural build up of pus in the muscles and bloodstream that cannot be subdued, stopped, or healed; the drinker will eventually die due to lack of blood circulation or an inability to breathe due to swelling.'"_

_Hermione gagged slightly and looked at him disgustedly. "That sounds horrible. Why would someone make something like that?"_

_Malfoy shrugged. "According to the book, Brigit was in love with the Muggle King of Gael for years and was trying to persuade him to marry her, but he was more interested in her Squib sister. So she created it—he'd either most likely die from one of the side effects and never be with her sister or she'd convince him to marry her. Seems like a win-win situation to me."_

_She glared. "It sounds like Brigit was clinically insane to me."_

_"Well, she was also one of the most skilled potioneers since Merlin himself. And everybody knows that he was a completely loony—crazier than the Lovegoods."_

_"That's not true. Luna's not crazy, she's just...eccentric," Hermione said defensively._

_"Of course you would think that."_

Realizing she only had three minutes to get halfway across the castle to the prefects' Common Room before she was officially considered "late," She sped up, walking briskly and yelling at students to get out of the way or lose house points.

She had barely given the password and clambered through the portrait hole when the hands on her watch hit eight o'clock. Panting slightly, she took in the large Common Room which she had only been in a handful of times before (all prefects had access to it and could use it, but the only people who ever did were the Head Boy and Girl). Tall bookshelves stood in every corner, long banners of every house color adorned the walls, and arched windows let in the waning moonlight; there were three grey sofas and a few matching armchairs that surrounded a huge glass coffee table. Twenty-three students of various houses turned around at the same time and gawked at her.

Grace Youngblood, who was standing up in front of the room, gave Hermione a disapproving look and pointed to the only empty seat in the entire room, right between Ron and a fifth year Gryffindor. Blushing ashamedly, she quickly took her spot.

"Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, Granger," a voice drawled.

Hermione looked up to see Malfoy sitting directly across from her, looking as conceited as ever, his arm draped around the shoulders of Lilian Vanderhoof.

"At least my presence is wanted, Ferret," she said snidely.

He feigned offense. "My presence is always wanted, you Mud—Muggle-born," he sneered, aware of the subtle glares the other prefects were giving him for his almost-usage of the vulgar term. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"

The blonde Hufflepuff gave him a cross look. "My name's Lilian."

He looked at her disinterestedly. "Yes," he said coldly. "I suppose it is."

Lilian frowned. "You know—"

"Okay, let's get this meeting started," Grace said, silencing the quiet chatter of the Hogwarts prefects. "So, the first week of school has gone by pretty smoothly and I'm happy with _most_ of our actions, though I do have to remind you all that you can't favor your house. If you see something doing something against the rules, you _must_ take the proper amount of house points away, regardless of the house." She shot a knowing look at a fifth year Slytherin girl. "If I see or hear of any unfair treatment, I will talk to Dumbledore and your badges will be striped. Understood? Good. Now, Gavin and I are taking request forms for next month's patrol schedules, which I will personally hand out to you all on the 27th. You can either give your requests to us personally or leave them in that bin over there. We can't guarantee that you'll get the times that you want, but we'll try our best to accommodate everyone."

The Head Girl continued talking about various duties, access to the prefect bathrooms, and some new items that Filch had banned, with random input from the drowsy and uninterested Head Boy, but Hermione wasn't really listening. Words became a fuzzy noise in the background and her glazed eyes stared blankly out one of the windows at the silver moon as her mind became preoccupied, thinking about that one Arithmancy problem that she just couldn't quite figure out. She wasn't sure how long she was caught up in her own thoughts, but she was swiftly reminded of where she was when Ron accidentally elbowed her in the rib as he shifted in his seat. Rubbing her soon-to-be bruised spot, she turned her attention back to the Head Girl, who was in the middle of talking about something that appeared to be important.

Grace twirled a thick strand of shiny black hair around her finger. "Look, like I said, I really would love to organize the ball, but I've got too much to do. I'm already planning the Autumn Harvest Celebration, the Yule Ball, the St. Valentine's Dance, and the Graduation Ball—I can't also do the Halloween Masquerade. I'd go completely bonkers and they don't let crazy people become Healers. So, _please_, will two people volunteer to plan it? Two people, that's all I ask." She looked around the room with pleading eyes.

Nobody moved.

She frowned and crossed her arms. "Fine. Hermione?"

The bushy-haired Gryffindor bit her lower lip. She wasn't really the type of girl who would excel at planning dances (really, there were a handful of other girls in the room who'd be much better at it), but the expectant look on the Ravenclaw's face made her nod. And she wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Besides, she could always ask Parvati or Ginny for assistance. They'd be ecstatic to help.

"Great," Grace sighed, relieved that she managed to capture at least one person. She made a note on her clipboard before looking around again. "Anyone else?"

Everyone avoided her gaze, staring at their twiddling thumbs or their feet.

She cocked an eyebrow, giving them all a disapproving stare. "I thought twenty-five percent of you were supposed to be brave, yet no one is courageous enough to volunteer. You should be ashamed. How about you, Malfoy?"

All eyes turned to the Slytherin, who was absentmindedly playing with a lock of Lilian Vanderhoof's hair. His eyes, in turn, lazily slide to Hermione, who was adamantly shaking her head and mouthing "no" over and over again. He smirked. "I'd love to."

Suddenly, Ron stood up. "No, wait! I'll do it."

Grace looked at him impassively. "Well, Malfoy has already taken the spot, Ron. You should've volunteered when I asked."

"Well, now I am volunteering," he protested. "It's not like Malfoy really wants it. I'll take it."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Excuse me, Weasel, but it's mine," he said, his voice like ice. "I know you're desperate to spend time with your precious little bookworm after you got down on your knees and begged and she, idiotically, forgave your pathetic self, but you're too late. The spot's _mine_."

There was a long moment of deafening silence as Ron and Malfoy glared at each other, each daring the other to back down. Hermione loudly cleared her throat and tugged on the sleeve of the redhead's robes, wordlessly telling him to sit his arse down. He complied, but his eyes never left Malfoy's. Minutes passed in awkward silence as everyone looked from one side of the room to the other, watching a Gryffindor-Slytherin stare down.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ronald!" Hermione cupped his cheeks and turned his face so his eyes were forced to meet hers. She gave him her best McGonagall-esque scowl and in a scolding tone, she said, "Stop being such a child. Ferret Boy is not worth the trouble. Besides, you can still help."

"You just won't be in charge," Malfoy added, sneering. "Not that you're ever in charge, I expect—the Golden Boy's lackey, the boyfriend of a bossy know-it-all, Mummy's little boy. It's so sad. Do you even make your own decisions?"

"Malfoy, why don't you take your wand and shove it up—"

"I think our meeting is over," Grace announced, deciding to finally step up and take control of the situation. "Everyone can go. _Now_."

Hermione instantly grabbed Ron's arm, digging her nails into his skin through his robes, and pulled him towards the exit before he or Malfoy could start spewing insults at each other again.

"Hey, wait, Hermione! I want to talk to you!"

Glancing back, Hermione pushed Ron out through the portrait hole and ordered him to go back to the Gryffindor Common Room before turning around.

The two girls waited for a minute as the room cleared out, the last students being Malfoy, whose arm was wrapped around a giggling Lilian, whispering things into her ears as she blushed profusely. Hermione resisted an urge to gag.

As soon as the portrait swung shut and the blond couple was gone, the Head Girl looked at the brunette prefect and smiled sincerely. "Look, I'm sorry about sticking you with Malfoy. I know you aren't exactly 'friends,' but I think that you two could make a really great time. And if he gives you any real trouble, just tell Dumbledore or me, yeah?"

Hermione nodded, all the while knowing that neither Grace nor Dumbledore could ever stop the torture that the Slytherin inflicted upon her. "I respected your ideas and not to sound rude or anything, but could I just ask why you chose Malfoy? I mean, Ernie Macmillan would've been a much more…amiable choice. Or Ron," she added as an afterthought.

Grace nodded understandingly. "Hermione, everyone knows that Malfoy is an outright git, but he's…well, he demands attention and obedience. He's a leader—whether people follow him out of fear or respect is a completely different matter, but he's a leader nonetheless. Almost everybody respects you, but respect isn't enough to make any of these lazy slackers work and people do what he says. You're going to need someone by your side that can back you up. Merlin knows I wish I had a partner like him." She motioned towards the Head Boy, who was sprawled lazily on a sofa, laughing loudly as he transfigured a book in a bird and then back again. "But alas, I'm all alone. I honestly think Malfoy will do you good. If I paired you with Ernie, he'd just be walked all over by everyone else. And if I paired you with Ron, he'd just slack off. You're not daft enough to think otherwise, are you?" She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Hermione shook her head, hearing the unwanted truth in Grace's words.

"Good. Um, I'll talk to you and Malfoy soon and tell you about the rules of party-planning and such. Then the rest of it is up to you, yeah? I'll see you later."

She nodded and waved goodbye, slowly making her way down the corridors and up some stairs to the Gryffindor tower, all the while considering what her life had turned into. _Why am I being paired with Malfoy for everything? We may have some half-arsed truce, but if we're forced to spend any more time together, we're going to curse each other to death. It's like people are trying to drive us to kill each other._

Reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione said, "Red dragonstongue." As the portrait hole swung open, her eyes adjusted to the warm, dim glow at the end of the short tunnel that led to the scarlet and gold room. Someone roughly pushed past her, making both of them stumble.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Lavender, is that you? What's wrong?"

The dirty-blonde girl's face was red and puffy. She was sniffling loudly, rubbing her eyes. Black streaks of mascara were stuck on her cheeks and she looked extremely disheveled, a strange difference from her normally immaculate and peppy appearance. The second she saw who she ran into, her face twisted into a mask of hurt and agony before she broke out into tears, heaving with her nose running. She quickly scrambled out of the portrait hole into the corridor.

Worried for her roommate, Hermione sighed deeply and went after hear, earning an annoyed grunt from the Fat Lady. Lavender was leaning against a nearby wall, her face buried in her hands, as she sobbed heavily. Tentatively, Hermione walked closer.

"Lavender? What's wrong?"

The girl looked up for a second, her eyes bloodshot and brimmed with red. "Ev-everything!" she hiccuped.

The bushy-haired girl hesitantly put a hand on the blonde girl's shoulder.

"Don't touch me, you dirty tart!" Lavender cried and, in one swift and violent movement, Hermione was flung against the wall. A sickening crack echoed through the hall and the brunette witch watched as her roommate stormed off before everything disappeared into the blackness.

* * *

**A/N**: So I realize this is going pretty slowly, but I plan for there to be some twists and revelations and things soon that will speed it up a little.

Also, thanks for all the reviews, you guys! They mean a lot to me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Wednesday, September 11th**

Malfoy was positively seething.

That was obvious.

Well, maybe not that obvious.

His face was impassive as ever, but his silver orbs were on fire, glaring daggers at anything to that dared to come into his view. His jaw was clenched and his hands were balled into fists, his knuckles white (something that was almost imperceptible against his already pale skin). Aside from that, he seemed as indifferent and apathetic as ever. He was sitting at one of the study tables a few meters away, poised and nonchalantly elegant, positioned so she could casually watch him without raising suspicions but so that his eyes never met hers, seeming to be completely focused on the Transfiguration textbook in front of him. But every few seconds, he would look over at the bench across from her and the anger in his eyes would flare to even scarier depths.

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the sight, hiding her face behind a thick curtain of hair. It was intriguing to her how in control Malfoy was of his emotions. They had been sitting there for more than two hours and the entire time, she had been sure that he was on the verge of having a temper tantrum and screaming "Avada Kedavra" at the object of his extreme irritation. But he didn't. He just sat there, quietly fuming. It was rather strange that this pompous boy was not demanding what he wanted—and what he wanted was very clear. She had been sure that the second Malfoy had seen _him_, sitting there as if he was supposed to be there (when he most certainly was not), he would be the typical conceited ferret that he was and order the other boy to leave. Secretly, Hermione had hoped that he would because it would have made the entire situation so much easier on her.

Ever since she had woken up in the Hospital Wing early Saturday morning with a massive headache, a pack of Gryffindors surrounding her bed, and a disapproving Madam Pomfrey shoving foul-tasting, bubbling healing potions down her throat, Ron Weasley had barely left her side. He woke up early every morning so they could go to breakfast together. He sat next to her in all the classes they had together. He personally walked her to every single of her classes, talking nonstop the entire time, oblivious to the fact that she was grinding her teeth and trying to block out his grating voice. He decided to spend all his free time in the library wither, not studying, but instead chatting away. When she did manage to escape—err, leave—he would always find her, suddenly appearing at her side, interrupting her quiet or the conversations she was having with the other people, and steer her away, overlooking her death glares. On multiple occasions, she had come close to hexing him into oblivion because he would just not leave her alone.

It was rather ironic in Hermione's eyes. Merlin knew she had practically been in love with Ron since their third year, but her pining and rather transparent affections had seemed to be for naught. He had been, as with almost everything else, completely oblivious. Less than two weeks ago, she would've jumped at the idea of Ron following her around and paying so much attention to just her. But now, it just made her jaw clench and her teeth grind together.

Currently, she and Malfoy were _supposed_ to be working together on their essay for Potions.

But Ron had decided to tag along with her to the library, ignoring her explanations of why he should not be there—because it was a bloody competition. He had just sat down at some random table (overlooking her request to go to her claimed alcove, calling it too stuffy and far away) and started to talk about Quidditch and how he wished he could go to the Chudley Cannons' next game. Malfoy had emerged a few minutes later from the aisles of books, walking with all the confidence in the world. When he had seen Ron sitting there with Hermione, he had simply raised a questioning eyebrow at her that said very plainly, _I'm wasting my precious pureblood time to be here and you bring the Weasel? That is _not _okay_, but didn't say anything and chose a seat a few tables away. Ron, when spotting the blond, had made a snarky comment about how ferrets shouldn't be allowed in libraries before returning to his ramblings about a sport that Hermione didn't give two Knuts about. Hermione had honestly been taken aback when Malfoy didn't tell him to go away and he didn't even bother to come up with his own retort about weasels. No, he just sat down, opened his copy of _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_, and attempted to ignore the redhead, which seemed to be very difficult for him since said redhead was talking rather loudly.

"…so I told Dean, 'That's not true at all. They only lost to Puddlemere United 420-190, not 450-180.' I mean, can you believe that guy? He knows everything about some Muggle football team, but nothing about the Chudley Cannons!"

It amazed Hermione how ignorant he was of the fact that one of his best friends and his worst enemy (_possibly_ only outdone by You-Know-Who) were both two seconds away from cursing him.

She had been trying unsuccessfully for the past few hours to tune out his voice and focus on her astronomy charts, but Ron was making it extremely difficult. Not to mention the fact that she was slightly distracted by the animosity that was radiating off of Malfoy.

"Ron," she said, interrupting whatever he had been saying about whatever subject he had moved on to. "Don't you think it's time for you to leave?"

"No."

"You don't have any homework you need to do?" she pressed.

"Well, I have my Charms essay, but I'm going to need your help."

She let out an exasperated sigh, not quite believing that anybody could be so lazy, so insensitive, so oblivious, so…_Ron_. "Exactly how long have you spent working on it?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. An hour, maybe. I was trying to do it on Monday, but it was rather difficult, and then Harry asked me to play a game of Wizard's Chess. So, do you think you could help me?"

She gave him a withering glare, annoyance bubbling up. "No, I don't think I can," she said primly.

"What? Why?" he asked incredulously, like he thought she had nothing better to do than do his homework for him.

"Because I have other things to do—important things."

He looked at her blankly for a second, as if he wasn't quite sure what she'd said. "Hermione," he sing-songed. "We're friends, aren't we? Best friends, right?"

She glowered at him, her eyes narrowed. "I suppose," she said evenly.

"Right! And what do best friends do? We help each other."

"You've never helped me."

"Of course I have," he said, waving her comment away.

"No, you haven't!" Hermione screeched.

"Hermione," he said patronizingly, giving her a condescending look that made her want to slap him and hex him silly, "is it your time of the month again? Because if it is, I'll have you know that I don't appreciate you taking your feminine hostilities out on me just because you can't control your emotions."

"_WHAT?!_" she shrieked, standing up suddenly, knocking over the bench she'd been sitting on.

"Merlin, Hermione, this is a library. Quiet down, will you?"

"Leave, Ronald! Go away _now_!"

"What? Why?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.

"WHY?!" she screamed, not caring about who was near or who heard her. Her blood was boiling and she was shaking with unadulterated rage. "Because if you don't leave right now, I will hex you, you bloody wanker!"

He stared at her before smiling amusedly at her. "Don't me silly, Hermy. You would never hex me."

She gaped at him. Did he honestly think he could just push her around and say uncalled for things? Did he seriously think he could get away with it all? Of course he did. Because she always let him—she'd done his work for him for the past five years, she'd put up with his subtle and not-so-subtle insults, she'd accepted his insensitivity and his crudeness, she'd ignored her pained feelings because he was her best friend.

Well, no more.

She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age. She was not going to let anybody push her around like she was a sack of emotionless, knowledge-filled potatoes, only mattering when convenient.

Digging into her robes, she pulled out 10¾ of vine wood. At that moment, she really didn't give a damn if magic wasn't allowed in the library—she just wanted to make something clear to her "best friend." Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the fact that she could feel Malfoy's penetrating gaze on her, like he was trying to light her on fire with his eyes.

She twirled her wand around casually. "Do you want to bet?" she asked sweetly. "Because I think I _would _hex you."

Ron was looking at her like she should be committed to St. Mungo's.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Weasley," she spat.

"C'mon, Herms," he said, smiling up at her like he thought he was _charming_ or something. "Just sit down. You're making a scene."

"Ronald, I'm still giving you a chance to leave. I would recommend taking the opportunity." She could feel the venom building up every second she had to looking at his freckled, pale face and those annoying, feigned-earnest ocean-blue eyes.

"You're acting crazy. What's wrong with you? Did Malfoy Imperius you or something? Just sit down and put your wand away before you do something you regret."

"_Adolebit cutis_."

Right before her eyes, a burst of indigo hit Ron square in the chest. Deep blue-violet light washed over him in a series of waves, leaving behind blotchy, swollen, and bright red skin. The second the indigo color disappeared, a multitude of pus-filled bumps and boils appeared on his skin.

There was a long period of deafening silence. Hermione just stared at Ron, absorbing what she had just done, and he just stared back, with a completely shocked expression on his face. She expected some guilt to come, to make an appearance in the pit of her stomach— she had just jinxed her best friend with a serious case of rashes and disgusting pus-filled sacs. But it didn't. She found that she didn't regret what she had just done. In fact, she discovered that she wished she had done it a few years earlier. _I really should've done that when he made fun of Crookshanks._

"Well, I guess you're lucky you didn't make that bet, eh, Weasley? Not that you have any money to bet with," a voice drawled suddenly. Hermione's eyes flicked over to see Malfoy, who was staring at the two of them with an extremely amused smirk on his face.

This snapped Ron out of his confused daze. "Shut your mouth, you dirty snake," he snarled. Turning to Hermione, he glared coldly. "What did you just do?"

"I think it's quite obvious, Ronald; I cast an Itching Jinx on you."

"Well, reverse it! Now!"

"Honestly, if you ever paid attention in class, you'd know that you can't reverse an Itching Jinx," she scolded with the most amount of condescension she could find (which was a lot). "It'll wear off in six hours."

"Six hours?!"

"Honestly, Weaselbee, does being poor also make you deaf?"

His blue eyes flared dangerously. He stood up quickly and grabbed his bag off the floor. Giving Hermione a death glare that should've made her quiver, he stomped off.

Turning to Malfoy, she smiled pleasantly, as if she hadn't just most-likely ruined one of her oldest friendships. She tucked her wand away, grabbed her bag off of the floor, and stuffed her astronomy charts into it before turning on her heel, walking towards the alcove. "Are you coming, Malfoy? We have a lot of things to do," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

It was official and undeniable—Draco Malfoy _respected_ Hermione Granger. There was no squashing it or pushing it away now.

It really wasn't his fault, anyways. He didn't _want_ to respect her, but he had practically been forced to. How was he not supposed to admire someone who had just cast an Itching Jinx on one-third of the group that habitually caused him immense misery (even if said someone was part of said group)?

But despite his grudging admiration, it wasn't like he had to be polite or civil or anything like that. After all, he was still a Malfoy and she was still a Mudblood. It was like his father said: Mudbloods were worthless and disgusting, acting as heavy burdens on all of wizarding society.

Even with that in mind, he couldn't stop staring at her.

Her cheeks were still slightly flushed from her confrontation with Weaselbee, but she wore a completely placid, unperturbed expression. She had tied her hair back into a loose bun and some wispy strands had gotten loose, framing her face. For the past few minutes, she'd been babbling on about how she liked to organize her essays, but she had been staring at the coffee table the entire time, refusing to meet his eyes.

He wondered if she was embarrassed. She shouldn't be. He'd always thought that Potter and Weasley were her bodyguards, protecting her from all danger and saving the day. It was intriguing to see her stand up for herself like that. Sure, she was extremely witty and there was that one time she'd slapped him, but facing her best friend and hexing him with an Itching Jinx was something completely different. In his opinion, she should be extremely proud of her actions, even if she got a detention for it. He knew if she actually did get in trouble, she wouldn't think of it in the same light, though. And she already had enough pride—she was a bloody Gryffindor after all.

She suddenly looked up and met his eyes.

"Malfoy, are you even listening to me?"

No, not really. "Yes, I am, Granger. Unlike you, I was raised to have manners, which, unfortunately, includes listening to your incessant babble."

She scoffed at him and crossed her arms. "I have manners, Malfoy."

"Hmm, did you learn them from dogs? Because your manners don't seem to the same kind that normal people have."

"I have the kind of manners _normal_ people have—you just have the kind of manners that belong to pompous, egomaniacal prats." She frowned at him. "So?"

"So, what?"

She glared at him with irritation. "So, what do you think?"

"Oh, right. It's a terrible idea."

"How? It's makes perfect sense," she said defensively. "We'll both work on the essay, but I'll be the one actually writing everything down. Besides, my handwriting is better than yours."

"I could say the same thing about my blood."

The second the words left his mouth, he cringed inwardly. He hadn't meant to say anything like that, but it was a well drilled-in reflex. It had slipped out without a second thought. And he had probably just ruined their crappy truce. He had probably pissed her off and she would cast an Itching Jinx on him too.

Her eyes widened and a bolt of hurt flashed.

But instead of giving him rashes and pus-filled bumps, she turned away from him and started to pull out used and new scrolls of parchment, ink, and a quill from her bag. She quickly got to work, unfurling scrolls and sorting through them, completely ignoring Draco, who was intensely glaring at her in the hopes that she'd be the one to break the uncomfortable silence. Looking at her, he couldn't help but feel something strange, like guilt, bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but his pride refused to let him apologize.

After what seemed to be an eternity of stifling silence, but was probably less than fifteen minutes, he cleared his throat.

"Look, Granger—"

"Why do you think you're better than me?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. She didn't move to look at him, keeping her eyes steadily on her bottle of ink.

"Because I'm a pureblood," he answered immediately, his father's teachings ringing over and over in his mind.

There was a pause as Granger looked at him with vacant, yet sad, eyes. "In the end, when all of _this_ is over, you'll realize that blood is just blood. It doesn't mean anything," she said lowly.

He scoffed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"I understand perfectly fine. You're the one who doesn't understand." Her voice was gentle and quiet and this annoyed him even more. He would feel better if she was yelling at him and storming off. At least then he would know what to do—yell back and drag her back so they could do this stupid project.

He glared at her venomously and she defiantly stared back at him with calm eyes.

_Who does she think she is? She can't talk to me that way—she's just a pesky know-it-all Mudblood. Say something or she'll think she's won._ But for the life of him, he couldn't think of any sort of response. It didn't matter anyways—she had turned back to her scrolls and was, yet again, pointedly ignoring him.

They worked for hours in an uneasy silence, handing each other various pieces of parchment, scratching out parts of their first draft and rewriting things, sorting through the notes they'd taken, never meeting each other's eyes, asking wordless questions. It made Draco rather uncomfortable. He preferred their bickering to this quiet

He smirked suddenly, realization dawning on him. "You must really hate Weasley," he said casually.

He watched in amusement as she jumped slightly, startled by his voice filling the quiet, but she didn't respond and kept her gaze on coffee table, reaffirming his words.

_Ahh, so the Golden Trio isn't as perfect as they seem_, he thought smugly. His smirk grew. "I insult you every single day and you've never hexed me—slapped, yes, but never hexed—but the Weasel says one thing to you and he's jinxed. I know that you hate me, so you must really hate Weasley."

Again, she stayed quiet.

"Was it payback for breaking your heart last week?" he inquired, leaning forward, enjoying this far too much. "You know, I saw his apology in the Great Hall. Rather…lackluster, don't you think?"

Her eyes flicked up and he immediately knew that she did in fact think that.

"Really? So you think his half-arsed apology was as much of an act as I did?" _Well, this is a rather interesting turn of events._

"You didn't even hear his apology," she said quietly.

He leaned back in the armchair. "True, I didn't. But I know when someone's lying—it's all in the body language."

She looked up at him with a guarded expression. "I suppose you would know all about lying then."

The look he shot her said, _why are you even asking?_ "Naturally. I am both a Slytherin and a Malfoy, after all."

"Naturally," she repeated with a smirk of her own. They were quiet for a few minutes, working again, but Draco could feel the tension in the air ease a bit and that, for some unknown reason, made him feel…_happy_? No, definitely not happy. He could never be happy when he was in the presence of some filthy Mudblood, especially Granger, but something _like_ happiness.

* * *

**Thursday, September 12th  
**

Honestly, Hermione wasn't sure what she expected to happen that morning. Maybe Ron would yell at her. Perhaps he had turned the entire Gryffindor house against her for hexing him and she'd be rejected like a leper. He could've planned some sort of twisted retaliation. But that hadn't been the case at all. In fact, Ron avoided her like the plague and when he couldn't avoid, he ignored. He completely skipped both breakfast and lunch, something not lost upon Harry. During Charms, the only class that she shared with Ron that day, he had pointedly chosen a seat in the very back, sharing a desk with a disgruntled-looking Theodore Nott. Rolling her eyes, Hermione had taken her usual seat up front. He made a surprising appearance at dinner, choosing to sit with Seamus and Dean. While Harry had been clearly confused and had given Hermione a suspicious, inquiring look, he didn't question her and she didn't say anything._ Every friendship has their rough patches. This is just ours, _a voice reminded her softly. She wanted to feel bad about what she did, but, for some reason, the guilt never appeared. Deep down, she was happy that he was leaving her alone. She wouldn't dwell on why the feeling of guilt was so elusive though.

* * *

**Friday, September 13th**

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet and tried to focus on finding what she had been searching for, but she was distracted by the alert hairs on the back of her neck. She glanced around again, only to come up with the exact same results as before. She was, evidently, completely alone here, hidden in the back corner of the Muggle Studies Section of the library. There was only silence and books around her, nothing else.

But she swore that she could still feel someone's intense gaze on her and it felt like they were trying to light her on fire.

_I'm just being paranoid,_ she reasoned with herself. _Just find the book and go._

She ran her fingers along the spines of thick tomes and frowned slightly when she reached an empty space. _It should be right here,_ she thought with furrowed brows. But it wasn't. _Muggle-Wizard Relations During the Mid-1940's_ by Elva Beauregard was missing.

Her frown deepened. She wondered who else would possibly be interested in such a book. This year, with the upcoming War darkly looming overhead, most students had dropped out of Muggle Studies and some had even distanced themselves from their Muggle-born friends. People didn't want to be labeled as Muggle-lovers if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came into power. In Hermione's opinion, it was understandable, but cowardly and weak at the same time. Only three other students in her year had opted to take Muggle Studies and she knew that all of their essays were focusing on events far earlier than the 20th century. _Maybe Justin decided that the 18th century was too boring,_ she mused as she turned around only to crash into a warm body.

"Merlin, I am so, so sorry," she said hastily, backing up slightly to see who she had just managed to walk into. Wide brown eyes with flecks of gold and green, thick eyelashes, tanned skin, short dirty blond hair, broad shoulders, a Hufflepuff tie. Her breath caught slightly as she marveled at his attractiveness. How had she never noticed someone so fit before?

"No, no, it's my fault," he said with an easy smile, running his fingers though his hair. "I wasn't watching where I was going. Please, allow a clumsy oaf like myself to take the blame."

"Well, I'm a clumsy oaf, so we can both shoulder the burden, I suppose."

He laughed richly and held out his hand. "I'm Erik. And you are?"

She shook his hand. "I'm Hermione."

Recognition washed over his handsome features. "Hermione? As in, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's friend?"

Her cheeks warmed a bit. "Yes."

"No, don't be embarrassed, please. It's just that I've heard so much about you and your friends, so it's nice to put a beautiful face to a beautiful name," he said.

"Well, I hope I live up to the rumors," she replied bashfully, smiling up at him shyly.

"I'm sure you do."

They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment, but the hot blush of her cheeks that was beginning to strengthen snapped her out of the reverie.

Her attention moved away to read the title of the book that was in his hand. "So that's where it went," she mumbled under her breath.

"Sorry? Oh, the book. Yes, I've just finished it. A rather captivating read, if you're interested in that sort of thing—you know, Muggles and such. Elva Beauregard is so detailed and emotional with her writing and there's a section in here that makes comparisons between General Dwight D. Eisenhower and Auror Elbert Coker that is just simply fascinating. If you have the free time, I would suggest reading it."

Hermione knew she was practically drooling, but she couldn't help it. "Ac—actually, I was just looking for this book. I guess you had it."

He held the book out. "Sorry, I'm such a book hog. You can have it now."

"Thank you."

"No problem." He smiled at her again and she swore she could feel the butterflies blossom in her stomach. "Listen, I've got to go, but I'll see you around, yeah?"

She nodded eagerly, completely oblivious to the lanky figure that had materialized a few meters away.

"Hopefully sooner rather than later," Erik called over his shoulder flirtatiously as he walked away.

Hermione stood there dumbly for a few moments, so preoccupied with her thoughts of boys and homework that it took for a while to realize that someone had materialized in front of her. Seeing his face made annoyance bubble through her veins. She had preferred it when he was ignoring her like he had been for the past two days, not standing right in front of her with his narrowed, accusing eyes and his flushed, freckled face.

"Who was that?!" he demanded angrily.

"Hello, Ronald. It's nice to see you too. Are you no longer giving me the cold shoulder?"

"I asked you who that was!" he yelled.

"That was Erik," she responded calmly, knowing from experience that it was best to face Ron's anger head-on as opposed to ignoring him. It would just make the situation irreparably worse.

"Erik?" he spat viciously. "So what exactly were you and _Erik _talking about? Hmm?"

"Muggles and books," she said honestly, holding out her newly acquired book as evidence.

He eyed both her and the copy of _Muggle-Wizard Relations During the Mid-1940's_ with suspicion before all of his anger dissipated in a millisecond. "Oh," he said lamely. "Well, sorry. I was just…um, worried about you."

"Worried about little old me? How touching."

He flinched at the frostiness of her voice, just like she had wanted him to. "Look, Hermione, I—"

"Save it, Ronald. I have things to do and it's getting rather late. Perhaps we can talk later." She made to move past him, but he blocked her way, caging her in the corner between the stone wall and the bookshelf with his arms, and she let out an irritated, huffy noise because they both knew there was no way she was going to be able to get past him unless magic was involved. And as pleasing as it was to see him covered in rashes, she did think jinxing him _again_ in the library would really be the wisest of ideas. So she just resigned to glaring at him.

"Hermione, I need to talk to you. It's important. Please?"

She hesitated at the desperation in his voice. "Well, it's not like I really have a choice, I suppose," she said primly.

He blinked at her for a minute before realizing what she was saying and dropping his arms, stepping back to give her some space. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she mumbled, even though it really wasn't.

He took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you that…well, I've decided to forgive you."

She stared at him, her mind too shock to fully comprehend what he had just said or to come up with a response. _That_ had definitely not been what she had been expecting him to say. "What?" she finally managed to say.

He smiled, like her inability to form more than a one-word sentence was adorable. "I said that I forgive you."

"You…you forgive me?" she asked blankly.

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "Your emotions just got to you. It happens to the best of us, so I forgive you."

Anger quickly confusion, pumping through her veins and making her blood boil, and she clenched her jaw. _He forgives me? _He_ forgives me? That sexist, ignorant git forgives _me_?_

As offense-laced thoughts raced though her mind, his smile widened and it became clear that he was taking her silence as a positive thing. "Also, I know you don't have a date for Hogsmeade, so I was thining that we could go together."

All of her thoughts came to a screeching halt. "What?"

"Y'know—Hogsmeade, the two of us on a date. We could even go to Madam Puddifoot's, if you wanted to."

"Ma—Madam Puddifoot's? Why on earth would I ever want to even go near that pink atrocity of a teashop?" she sputtered.

"I dunno," he said with a casual shrug. "I just know that girls like to go there on dates and you're a girl, so…"

She snorted and let out a humorless guffaw at the irony of the entire situation. She had spent more than three years of harboring unrequited feelings and now that she had finally pushed them away and realized that she had wasted far too much time on him, he was asking her out on a date.

"Hermione?" he said, uncertainty etched on his face. "Are you okay?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "I'm fine."

He breathed a sigh of relief that seemed to rile up her aggravated senses even more.

"Good. So, how about that date?"

The single word that brought with it the feelings of rejection was on the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, she saw the shadows behind Ron shift. She groaned quietly when she saw the greens, silvers, and blacks and the faces that matched the Slytherin robes. Malfoy was standing a few meters away, looking condescending as always. Surrounding him was Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott, all three wearing looks with varying degrees and mixtures of boredom, annoyance, intrigue, and disgust. Hermione quickly prepared herself for a verbal, or possibly physical, assaults there were undoubtedly about to come her way.

"Hmm, what do we have here? It looks like we're interrupting a snogging session," Malfoy drawled, his voice cold and taunting. "Did the orange giant and the bushy-haired freak already kiss and make up?"

Ron's expression quickly contorted into a scowl and he spun around on his heel to face the Slytherins. "Sod off, Malfoy," he growled.

"I don't take orders from anyone, Weaselbee," Malfoy snarled in return.

"Especially not blood traitors like you," Nott added with a sneer.

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder to silently tell him to stay quiet as to not provoke them even further.

Pansy, seeing this, smirked, an action that emphasized her pug-like features and made her even more unattractive. "Hey, Mudblood, I have a piece of advice for you—you know, girl-to-girl. Hold on to your precious blood traitor because he's the only person in the entire world stupid enough to ever consider someone as disgusting and ugly as you _desirable_." She let out a cold, nasal cackle and was quickly joined in her laughter by her fellow Slytherins.

Hermione felt her heart throb painfully at the insult, but worked hard to make her features impassive.

"At least I want Hermione," Ron said fiercely. "No one wants an ugly put like you—that's why you stalk Ferret Boy around everywhere! Newsflash, Parkinson, just because he shags you, it doesn't mean he_ likes_ you."

There was a pregnant silence as the two Gryffindors and the four Slytherins just stared at each other, each in their own state of mild shock over what had just been said.

Pansy let out an indignant squeak and shot Ron a glare that would've frozen Medusa herself before storming out, her robes flowing behind her. Zabini let out a low whistle before giving Ron what Hermione _must_ have mistaken as a look of respect before sauntering off, with Nott following behind. That just left Malfoy, who was staring at Hermione with an uncomfortable amount of intensity in his eyes. She thought he was going to say something—reiterate the fact that she was a Muggle-born or make a comment about how she was a goody two-shoes bookworm—but then he just smirked in a rather unnerving way.

"Have fun watching your back, Weaselbee."

Then he disappeared into the shadows.

Ron turned around. "Hermione, don't listen to those—"

"Yes, I'll go on a date with you."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, he smiled like the Chudley Cannons had just won the European Quidditch Cup.

After all, how could she reject the boy who had just stood up for her so bravely?

* * *

**A/N**: I'm sorry if this chapter seemed rather unrealistic and if the characters were OOC (especially Hermione).

If you're wondering about Lavender, that will be addressed in the next chapter.

Also, I just started my junior year of high school last week, so the updates are probably going to happen rather sporadically. Sorry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Saturday, September 14th**

Draco wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but he knew that he had a problem. A truly awful problem. A problem that made him want to vomit.

When exactly this problem started he wasn't sure. At first, he had been oblivious to his actions. It was completely thoughtless, just his eyes wandering around the room. When he realized what he had been accidentally doing—what he had been accidentally doing for weeks!—he just sneered and chalked it up to his feeling of total and absolute loathing for her. He hated himself for it—why was he staring at _her_ of all people?—but the habit just couldn't be broken, no matter how hard he tried. His eyes just always found her, even in the crowded corridors.

Why was this happening to him? Why was he staring at her all the time? What had brought this on? How long had it been going on?

He really did not like not having the answers to these questions.

It was quite insane, really. If anyone knew about this strange newfound habit of his, they'd think he'd gone off the deep end. He'd be absolutely humiliated.

But he was a Malfoy and a stealthy Slytherin, so he knew how to do things discreetly. This really was not a good thing, because it meant he could continue to do it without the fear of ramifications.

It really was an annoying habit, though. In fact, it was downright disgusting. Just like her.

Draco smirked at his own musings as he nibbled on his breakfast as slowly as possible in a vain attempt to draw out the time before he had to go to Hogsmeade and pretend to actually have feelings for that Hufflepuff tart.

As he sipped his pumpkin juice, his eyes shifted to the Gryffindor table.

She was there, of course, sitting between Potter and the female Weasley, dressed in a red and gold knit jumper and Muggle jeans. Just like how a Gryffindor Mudblood would dress, he thought with a malicious sneer. Her hair was in a thick plait, showing off her delicate neck, and her ivory skin looked like porcelain, creamy and smooth. She was laughing at something the Boy Wonder had said. Suddenly, the Weasel appeared in front of Granger, temporarily blocking Draco's view. The redhead sat down and she smiled at him sweetly. Draco narrowed his eyes.

So, the Golden Trio was back to being perfect.

He snorted. How typical of those mushy, emotional, _friendly _Gryffindors—they were all far too forgiving.

"Staring at Granger?" a deep voice asked. "Again?"

Draco froze. He had forgotten about Zabini, who was far too observant for his own good and who had caught him staring at her through the books in the library yesterday. He had hoped that his lies had been convincing enough, but it appeared that his Italian friend was not played that easily. Sneering coldly at the boy next him, he speared an apple slice with his fork. "As if."

"She is rather pretty," Zabini mused softly, acting as if Draco hadn't said a thing. "Millicent told me that she's going to Hogsmeade with Weasley," he added conversationally.

"She's actually dating that ginger buffoon?"

"I don't know. Do I look like some gossipy Hufflepuff who's obsessed with Harry Potter's best mates?" he demanded indignantly. "But perhaps you can ask that girl you're going to Hogsmeade with. What's her name, Emily or Karen or something like that?"

"Lucy," Draco corrected absently, his eyes focused back on the Gryffindor table. She was frowned as Potter and Weasley stuffed their mouths with stacks of toast, apparently in some sort of idiotic competition. She rolled her eyes as she pulled trays of toast of their reach.

"Right, Lucy," Zabini said with a snicker. "But you have to admit that Granger's pretty, pretty easy on the eyes, yeah?"

"She's a Mudblood," he said seriously. Mudbloods weren't supposed to be easy on the eyes. They were supposed to be disgusting and ugly. Granger was disgusting and ugly, not matter how her eyes sparkled or how soft her skin looked or how beautiful her smile. She was a Mudblood and he hated her.

Zabini just nodded and made a noncommittal noise, avoiding the blond's dissecting gaze by preoccupying himself with peeling an orange. Draco almost rolled his eyes at his friend. Other people were too oblivious to notice the telltale signs and, while the Italian wizard was a superb actor, Draco prided himself on being keenly perceptive and having the ability to see past people's acts and facades. Despite being as cunning and sly as Salazar Slytherin himself and coming from one of the oldest, most prestigious pureblooded families in Italy, Blaise Zabini was mysteriously without a single ounce of prejudice. In fact, Draco could say, without a doubt, that he had never heard his friend utter the words "Mudblood" or "blood traitor," words that other Slytherins used so frequently. Calculating and devious beyond belief, yes, but he was not an avid supporter of blood purity. Draco would even go as far as saying that Zabini held high regard for the Mudblood Queen herself. On occasion, he wondered if Zabini was a blood traitor—after all, what did he really knew about the mysterious and quiet Italian?—but he never dared to voice his suspicions to others, like Nott or Pansy. Though they might have possibly differing views on blood status, Draco wasn't in a hurry to ostracize one of his oldest, closest, and most intelligent friends.

Draco's attention was soon diverted as dozens of owls started flying into the Great Hall, carrying new issues of the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, letters from families, and various parcels. He raised an interested eyebrow as he recognized his mother's owl among the others, soaring elegantly through the air, a rather large parcel attached to her. The bird landed gracefully in front of him and held out her leg impatiently. He quickly untied the parcel and offered her some bread, which she nibbled on lightly before flapping her wings and flying off again, screeching fiercely at any other owl that came within ten meters of her.

Draco examined the parcel. It looked exactly like one of the care packages his mother had always sent him when he was younger—a shiny silver box, the lid tied on with a thick strap of dark green silk that ended with an intricate bow. He frowned, thinking this was rather strange. His mother had stopped sending him packages more than a year ago, per his request. As much as he adored his mother and the feeling of receiving presents, he was practically of legal age and it was ridiculous that his mother was still sending him sweets like he was ten. Besides, he had more than enough Galleons to buy himself all the sweets and treats his heart desired.

Hesitantly, he pulled the silk tie off. His frown deepened. The box was filled to the brim with sweets—Liquorice Wands, Sugar Quills, Chocoballs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Fizzing Whizbees, homemade Cauldron Cakes, and Peppermint Toads. At the top of the pile of confections was a letter addressed to him in familiar elegant green scrawl.

He paused, realizing something. This was the first time either one of his parents had owled him since the start of the year. While the care packages had stopped a long time, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy sent their son a letter almost every day and Draco did the same. He would never openly admit it, but he always felt a bit homesick at Hogwarts. He missed his parents and, though their letters were rarely anything but distant pleasantries and in-depth details about the happenings around the Manor, he still liked knowing that his parents were thinking of them.

_They've most likely just been busy with the Dark Lord and their duties, _he rationalized. Since his public ousting at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries almost four months ago, the Dark Lord had began to demand the constant attention of all of his followers as they became stronger and prepared themselves for their upcoming takeover of the Wizarding world.

Draco paused to picture himself brandishing his own Dark Mark, wearing a black hood and a mask, before pushing the idea aside with an internal wince. It wasn't that he didn't support the Dark Lord—he was loyal. He just didn't want to become a Death Eater like almost every single other Malfoy or Black. He wanted to do something for himself, like play professional Quidditch or perhaps teach Potions once Snape retired. But he knew that his father would never allow it. He was expected to be one of the first of the new era of Death Eaters, along with Crabbe and Goyle.

He tore the envelope open, glancing around suspiciously before scanning the letter.

_My dearest Draco,_

_I apologize profusely for not writing you sooner. Your father and I have been rather busy, but that is hardly a proper excuse. I hope you'll forgive your dear forgetful mother._

_There is much going on, but I won't bore you with the details right now. Fret not, though—when you come home for the winter holidays, we will speak._

_I know that you insist on me not sending you any more care packages because you're a young man now, but I couldn't help myself. I miss my son and, while sending sweets is hardly a proper way to show my feelings, I thought that you would enjoy them. I even included Fizzing Whizbees, which, if memory serves me correctly, are your favorite._

_Please write soon._

_Your mother,_

_Narcissa C. Malfoy_

Draco scowled. He absolutely hated Fizzing Whizbees. His favorite sweets were Chocoballs and Cauldron Cakes. He quickly reread the letter and his brows creased. His mother's letters were never this short and vague. She _always_ went on for at least four paragraphs about some silly little thing she and his father fought about.

Stuffing the letter into his pocket, he glanced up, narrowing his eyes when he saw Granger and Weasley stand up together and make their way out of the Great Hall.

His breakfast suddenly became very unappealing.

* * *

"There's one where Ron supposedly got down on his knees and asked for your hand in marriage! Oh! And then there's one where you said yes because you're carrying Viktor Krum's lovechild!"

Hermione burst into a fit of laughter at that one. Sure, some ridiculous rumors had managed to have been concocted since last night, but that one truly took the cake. Still chuckling slightly, she smiled at Harry, who had spent the entire morning relaying these rumors to her. "That one is actually a tad bit offensive," she said. "Viktor would be a good enough man to take care of me and our lovechild, if the situation were to arise."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Hermione!" he scolded playfully while poking her rib.

"Well, it's true," she defended, crossing her arms. "Viktor is a very…_kind_ person."

"I agree," Ginny said suddenly, breaking the silence that she had been gracing her friends with the entire morning. "Viktor is a very kind person, Hermione. How is he, by the way?"

"Good. I just got a letter from him yesterday morning, in fact. Since he's no longer in school, he's been spending almost all of his time on the Quidditch field, although he has found a new love for Gobstones. He wants to play against me when I visit him," Hermione said with a small smile, remembering his enthusiastic letter where he had explained with much detail the subtle differences between the Bulgarian way and the British way to play Gobstones.

"So, you're going to visit him?" Ginny asked.

"Yes. I was going to visit him this past summer, but my parents decided that the three of us needed to spend some time together in France, so I wasn't—"

"Hey, what are we talking about?"

"Viktor Krum," Ginny supplied. "He's your favorite Quidditch player, isn't he, Ron?"

Ron's face blanched so much that even his freckles seemed to have lost their color. "Krum? No, he's lost his magic on the field. A bit of a bumbling oaf now, don't you think, Herms?"

Hermione frowned at him. "No. I think that Viktor's Quidditch skills have stayed the same, if not increased substantially. And he is _not_ a bumbling oaf. He's a very cultured and intelligent wizard who happens to be one of the most graceful flyers I've ever seen."

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and sat down. "I suppose," he grumbled.

Ginny smirked victoriously before standing up and brushing some invisible dust off of her skirt. "Well, I've got a date with Dean in a few minutes and I need to go properly moisturize my lips, so if you'll excuse me."

* * *

The walk to Hogsmeade had been filled with meaningless small talk, which, for some reason, had eased Hermione's nerves. Their light-hearted conversation had reminded her of their friendship, which had appeared to be perfectly fine until less than a month ago.

Their first stop of the day was Zonko's Joke Shop, where Ron had spent forty-five minutes examining every single product, unabashedly and loudly comparing every single one of them to those of his brothers' shop, while Hermione had listened quietly and eyed everything with extreme caution, as she had often been one of the victims of various pranks using products that came from this very store. They then made their way over to Spintwiches Quidditch Supplies. The moment they had stepped inside, Ron had promptly started to sprout random Quidditch statistics and facts while mooning over Firebolts and new Nimbuses and moving posters of the Chudley Cannons' keeper, who was waving merrily at everyone that passed by and zipping around in the air on his broom. Ginny and Dean had walked into the shop a few minutes after they had, but the moment they saw Hermione and Ron standing in the back, they had quickly disappeared out the door, but not before Dean not-so-subtly conspiratorially winked at Ron,

Per Hermione's request, their third stop of the day was Tomes and Scrolls, where she spent more than an hour browsing the various books on the relationship between the moon cycle and rain faeries' diets before Ron had finally demanded that she just choose something so that they could leave. As he said this, Padma and Parvati Patil passed by them, pausing and smiling knowingly at each other.

"Ron, it would do you good to realize early on that that you don't tell your girlfriend what to do. She tells you what to do. Just ask Terry Boot, right?" Parvati said with a snicker, lightly elbowing her sister. Padma blushed furiously before dragging her sister away.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable, especially at being called his girlfriend, Hermione had led Ron away to Honeydukes. Both of them emptied their pockets of Sickles and Galleons and then refilled them with sweets. Hermione couldn't help the raucous laughs that made her sides ache as Ron stuffed his mouth with a handful of Pepper Imps and Fizzing Whizbees, making him puff fire and float a few meters above the ground right outside the door of the sweets shop. He smirked playfully at her before, with surprising grace, he began prancing around in midair, spewing little bursts of fire out of his mouth. She guessed that he was trying to intimidate a dragon. Just as the magical candy was starting to wear off, he grabbed another handful and swallowed them before sauntering off towards Luna and Neville, who were standing several meters away, chatting happily by the entrance to Madam Puddifoot's.

As her laughter died down, Hermione noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Her smile quickly turned into a confused frown as she realized the thing that had caught her eye was Lavender Brown, who was sitting alone on the bench outside the Hogmseade post office. She wore a ratty-looking black sweater that was a few sizes too large and baggy, unflattering jeans. Her normally meticulously-styled hair was frizzy and without its usual blinding shine. Her face was splotchy, not flawless and porcelain, and there were purplish bags under her wide eyes that emphasized the redness that surrounded her violet irises. Her empty gaze was focused on Hermione and she was leaning against the walls of the post office like a broken doll.

The brunette Gryffindor hesitantly waved at her roommate, but after a few moments it became clear that the blonde was not going to respond. Hermione just stood there stupidly, unsure about what to do. She hadn't spoken to Lavender at all since the night of the prefects' meeting—in fact, she had barely seen Lavender at all. In all honesty, after Hermione had told both Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore a bold-faced lie about how she had hurt her head, she had expected some sort of apology or thanks from her roommate, but neither of those things had happened. Lavender seemed to think that the best course of action would be avid avoidance, a plan that she was apparently very dedicated too. She sat on the opposite side of the classroom, was never at any meals, ran the other way if they happened to be walking down the same hall, and adopted an entirely new schedule that consisted of waking up unnaturally early and going to bed very late. Hermione had managed to accept the fact that she had lied to one of the most powerful wizards of all time for some annoying girl who couldn't even properly give her thanks.

Just as she decided that perhaps Lavender needed a shoulder to cry on (obviously not hers; she would go find Parvati or perhaps Hannah Abbott, because they were most likely far better at dealing with a crying Lavender than she was, her recent hospitalization acting as undeniable evidence of that), a hand suddenly came down on her shoulder, startling her.

"Hey, Herms, Neville and Loon—um, Neville and Luna told me that the Three Broomsticks is supposedly pretty empty right now, so do you want to go get some Butterbeers?" Ron asked.

She ignored his question and peered over his shoulder, watching as Lavender suddenly stood up and quickly walked off towards Hogwarts. "Ron, have you spoken to Lavender since the school year's started?"

He froze and then shrugged his shoulders with contrived casualness. "Not really. She's a bit…well, she's gone off the deep end, hasn't she? I'd rather not speak to crazy lunatic girls. I mean, Luna's bad enough, honestly, but Lavender's a completely different story."

"But what's the matter with her? Last year, she was fine and sane, despite her taking Divination. Now, she doesn't even gossip with Parvati—she just cries all the time. Haven't you noticed?"

"No, because I don't really care. I just want a Butterbeer. Now, are you coming or not?" he asked impatiently.

Hermione glowered at him, hoping that her dark glare would thoroughly reprimand him for his crass and insensitive attitude. "Fine," she relented, realizing that she wasn't getting anywhere with this conversation.

"Great," he said with a pleasant smile, his hand suddenly snaking down her arm and intertwining their fingers.

Uneasiness quickly built up, washing away all thoughts except for the one that focused on the cold and sweaty feel of his hand. Hermione resisted the urge to immediately pull her hand away and instead, she smiled at him awkwardly as he led them towards the Three Broomsticks. She noticed that many other students were staring at them as they passed by and she felt a blush form on her cheeks. She wasn't usually one to care about what others thought, but she knew that soon the rumors that had already formulated would be multiplying and new, even worse ones would be added to the mix. Hermione desperately wanted to yank her hand away from and scream, "We're not dating! I don't even have romantic feelings for him!"

But she was Hermione Granger. She was logical and cool and she wasn't, by anyone's standards, an unnecessarily cruel person. So she just smiled at everyone and waved at them with her free hand, trying to ignore the wide eyes and the whispers being traded between her gossipy classmates.

Besides, perhaps she could _grow_ to like him like that.

* * *

His mother had raised him to be a proper pureblooded gentleman. After all, he was a Malfoy. He had perfect manners at the dinner table. He never slouched or slurped and he knew what forks were used for salads and entrees. He always held open doors (as long as those walking through them were of worthy blood, of course). He had incredible personal hygiene and he was one of the sharpest dressers in all of Wizarding Europe.

But he was seriously contemplating slapping his date and abandoning the stupid girl to spend the rest of his day at Spintwiches with Zabini and Nott.

He had been aware when he had set his mind on the Hufflepuff as his date that she wasn't the most fascinating bean in the box—she was Hufflepuff, after all—and he knew that he probably wouldn't have the most spiffing of times, but what he hadn't counted on was her being so incessantly irritating and idiotic. Honestly, she was almost as bad as Pansy. And Merlin, did this woman have a mouth on her.

"…I just don't understand why boys think that Hannah Abbott is attractive. I mean, she's so boring! All she talks about is Herbology. What sane boy would ever want to kiss a mouth that only spews out facts about plants? I suppose she's got nice hair, but that's about it. And she wears orange all the time! Orange!" She paused, as if she expected him to add something to her bashing of the older Hufflepuff girl, but Draco rolled his eyes and continued to stare at the front door of the Three Broomsticks, praying for Zabini or Nott or even Pansy to come and save him from this dreadful girl.

"But really, orange is such a terrible color, right, Drakey?" she prodded.

Draco cringed and tightened his grip on his tankard of Butterbeer. "Please refrain from calling me 'Drakey,'" he growled.

"Okay then, Drakey-Poo." She giggled, a high-pitched nasal noise that pushed him even further towards the idea of physical assault. "I'm going to go get another soda, yeah? I'll be right back. Don't run off while I'm gone, because I a special _treat_ for you later." She winked at him saucily before scooting out of their booth and sauntering off towards the bar, her hips swaying far too much to be natural.

Draco took a moment to admire the girl—she was annoying as hell, but that change the fact that she had rather nice curves—before his attention was suddenly drawn back to the door as Granger and Weasley walked in, their hands linked, a goofy smile plastered on the ginger's face and a demure blush on the Mudblood's. He resisted the urge to gag as he watched Weasley lean in close to her ear and whisper something before walking towards the bar, leaving her alone in the middle of the pub. She glanced around searchingly for a second before she started walking in his direction, seemingly oblivious of his presence. Her eyes suddenly met his and a flash of irritation shot through them before she stuck her nose up and walked past him without a second glance. He almost called after her, maybe just to have a verbal spar with her so his day wouldn't be a complete bore, but by the time he decided it was a good idea, she was already out of his sight and had claimed one of the few empty booths, one that, he noticed, happened to be right behind his. Perfect.

"So, Granger, having fun with your boy toy?" he called over his shoulder.

He distinctly heard her let out a tense huff. "Sod off, Malfoy," she growled fiercely.

"Why must you wound me with your cruel words?"

"Believe me, it was intentional."

"You're avoiding the question," he pointed out. "How does it feel to be the official girlfriend of the Boy Wonder's pathetic sidekick? Have all your Mudblood dreams come true?"

Before she could respond, an unfortunately familiar voice deigned to interrupt his battle of wits with Granger.

"Hey, Hermione."

Draco almost growled and gripped the handle of his tankard tighter, watching with narrowed eyes as his knuckles blanched and then reddened.

* * *

knuckles blanched and then reddened.

"Oh, hello, Erik," she greeted cheerfully, ignoring the presence of a certain blond Slytherin.

He shot her a swoon-worthy smile as he gracefully slid next to her in the booth, just close enough to be considered too close. "I didn't think I'd see you here," he said nonchalantly. "I heard some rumor about you and that Weasley fellow."

"Oh," she managed to whisper, feeling her face heating up. So, _everyone_ apparently had heard. "Um," she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "Yes, I…I suppose it's true."

He raised an eyebrow. "Woah there, Hermione. You're overwhelming me with your excitement," he deadpanned. He flicked a strand of dark blond hair that had fallen into his eyes away and leaned in even closer, his warm breath dusting her cheek. "So, you wouldn't mind if I acted as your chivalrous knight in shining armor and saved you, would you?"

"I'm sure that Granger here can handle herself against Weasley," Malfoy said coldly, suddenly appearing at the side of the table. "After all, as we know, he can barely hold his wand correctly."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the unwelcome slimy Slytherin, ignoring the little voice in her mind that was asking if Malfoy had possibly just indirectly complimented her—well, as much as Malfoy could compliment anyone, really. "Ron is a perfectly capable wizard, Malfoy," she said defensively. "Not that anyone ever asked for your opinion."

"Of course you would think he was a 'capable wizard,'" he sneered.

"What's that supposed to mean, Malfoy?" Erik asked fiercely.

Hermione felt her heart warm slightly at the Hufflepuff boy defending her.

"What do you think it's supposed to mean, Hufflehoof?" Malfoy sneered.

"I think you're insulting Hermione—"

"Congratulations, it appears that you _do_ have some brain cells after all!"

"—which I don't think is the wisest thing to do in front of me."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest. "I can do as I please and if I want to insult some dirty Gryffindor Mudblood, I will," he growled.

In a flash, both Erik and Malfoy had pulled their wands out and had them trained on each other. Malfoy's eyes were both cold and fiery at the same time, while Erik's face was pulled into a snarl.

"Don't be stupid—both of you put your wands away right now!" Hermione said, on the verge of hysteria. "The Three Broomsticks is hardly the proper place for a duel and I would rather not be banned from the only decent pub in Hogsmeade! Or expelled from Hogwarts!"

She was ignored.

Malfoy sneered. "I hope you're aware that my family—"

"Your family is nothing but a group of cruel, bigoted wizards and witches with numerous mental illnesses and a fading reputation. Your father's a known Death Eater in a society that worships Harry Potter and your mother is a prissy little snob surviving on Firewhiskey and the idiotic hopes that you won't turn out to be as much of a failure as your father. The only people who respect the Malfoy name are other Death Eaters, but soon even they will realize how weak you and your father really are. Soon, the Malfoy name will mean nothing to anyone and all you'll have are Galleons," Erik said, his short speech followed with a cold laugh. "It's rather pathetic, honestly."

Before either Hermione or Malfoy could react, a sweet and confused voice said, "Drakey-Poo?"

All attention snapped to the petite blonde girl that had suddenly appeared by Malfoy's side, holding a glass filled with cherry syrup, soda, ice, and a pink umbrella.

"Erik, what are you doing?" Lilian asked, cocking her head to the side. "Why is your wand out?"

"Lilian, why are you here all alone? Shouldn't you be with Wilma and Romilda?" Erik asked, still not lowering his wand.

"I'm not alone," she pointed out with a nasal giggle.

Malfoy, casually dropping his wand arm, wrapped his other one around Lilian's shoulders. "Yeah, she's not alone, Vanderhoof," he sneered, his eyes glinting victoriously. "She's with me."

"Like hell you are!" Erik shouted. "Malfoy, get away from my little sister!"

"I would, but I don't think she wants me to. Isn't that right, sweetums?"

Hermione felt ire grow deep in her belly as Lilian started giggling again when Malfoy leaned in and started kissing her jaw. She had to mentally remind herself that vomit would difficult to clean off sweaters, even with magic, and averted her gaze to the tall boy standing next to her.

He was glaring venomously at Malfoy, who somehow managed to smirk back at him between butterfly kisses, and the death grip he had on his wand tightened as he moved in threateningly.

Hermione reached for her wand, prepared to cast a blocking charm (yes, even for Draco Malfoy and his idiotic girlfriend-of-the-day—after all, she wasn't as cruel as he was).

"If you hurt my sister in any way, I'll make you pay, Malfoy—trust me when I say that," he snarled.

"Oh, I believe you," Malfoy said with a pearly grin. "But trust me, Vanderhoof, when I say that Lilian here is very important to me. Very, very important. And I intended to prove that to her later tonight."

Erik growled before turning on his heel and storming off. Malfoy, seemingly unaffected, smirked at Hermione before guiding his date back towards their booth.

* * *

Draco roughly pressed his lips to hers. She tasted like an odd mixture of cherry syrup and peppermint toothpaste. Her lips were rather sticky and he had no doubt that when he pulled away his own would be an unnaturally bright pink color. But he didn't really care. All he wanted was a distraction, even if the distraction was some annoying tart. He needed something that would help him ignore the fact that Granger and Weasley were sitting a meter away, on a date, flirting over Butterbeers.

Why was he being forced to watch and listen to a blood traitor and a Mudblood fall in love? It was so disgusting; he just wanted to punch Weasley in the face or perhaps send a particularly nasty curse his way. Weasley really was an idiot if he was falling for Granger of all people.

Draco pulled back and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

She blushed as she started to fix her hair, which he hadn't even touched since he had kept his arms by his side the entire time. "That was fantastic, Drakey-Poo. We should do that again some time."

Instead of responding, he stood up and offered his arm to her. She eagerly took it and, after leaving a few Galleons on the table, the couple made their way out of the Three Broomsticks and through Hogsmeade. She waved at everybody they passed, apparently very pleased that she was Draco Malfoy's newest piece of arm candy. He almost snorted at the irony. As they made their up the empty trail that led back to Hogwarts, he could tell she was trying to think of something to say, but he just ignored her presence and focused on the feeling of victory that he was about to relish in. He hoped the rumors about Hufflepuff hearts weren't just rumors.

* * *

**A/N**: I don't really like this chapter, but I've had writer's block for a ridiculously long time and I don't know how to make it any better. Oh well. I might go back later and edit it some more.

Anyways, thanks for the reviews. They mean a lot to me.


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